South Down The Coast
by xahra99
Summary: Eventually lemonscented sequel to Government Bloodhounds. Seifer sits on a beach and thinks about what he did, and Quistis helps him to forget.NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter One Stress And Coffee

South Down The Coast

"Life's a beach, and then you die."

Proverb.

Chapter One: Stress And Coffee.

"And what I think I'd really love is to get out by myself

On a little tiny island in the middle of the ocean

Just me and a book and a cellular phone

And a personal computer in case anything came up……

But actually I think it'd be really relaxing,

Just me by myself, in the middle of the ocean

And that's what I'd really love to do

More than anything else - except I'd probably hate it."

Stress, Jim's Big Ego

Title picture: 

This fic is a sequel to my previously posted Government Bloodhounds and should hopefully keep to the same fortnightly weekend updates. There is a summary for GB at the bottom of this page, should you wish. Alternatively this story's supposed to be able to stand alone, however some minor plot points may not make much sense. I don't have one of those huge fanon things where you MUST have read all three of the previous fics, all thirty chapters each, before you have a cat-in hell's chance of understanding the complexities of the current plot, though. :D

  
  


It was a beautiful day in Balamb.

The sunlight glinted off Quistis' computer screen as she pulled her chair back carefully, trying not to spill the coffee in her hand. 

The chair refused to move. 

Quistis swore quietly and put the coffee down, jerking impatiently at the chair. Unfortunately this strategy only unleashed a tidal wave in miniature as the chair banged the table top and her coffee slopped over the rim of the mug onto a meticulously aligned pile of forms.

Damn.

Another day stuck inside, doing Hyne knew what. Paperwork and bureaucracy, mostly. Surely single-handedly she must have contributed to the death of a dozen rainforests and the repatriation of at least seven tribes of pygmies. 

It had been the same ever since she'd come back from Trabia. The Balamb Garden committee had decided not to fully renew her instructor's licence until she gained 'further experience': instead she was stuck teaching a couple of advanced weapons classes four days a week, and doing preference testing with groups of cadets two days, trying to find out which of them might have an aptitude for the whip. 

Despite all the smutty jokes, she was surprised to admit she was enjoying it. And she was good at it, which was a totally different thing.

But not the paperwork. Never the paperwork.  

She settled reluctantly down and took a cautious sip of the coffee. It was scalding hot and black as hell, the way she liked it. No sugar.

The noises in the corridor, always present, were muted as the Garden around her began to wake up. Quistis liked it at this time, six forty-five a.m, maybe because everyone else found it unnaturally early. No-one around except her, so she could finally concentrate in her work -and be alone. That had been all too rare ever since, if she thought back, the end of last year's ..troubles. She knew, through Xu, that Squall got at least a dozen requests for publicity a day, and he usually turned them all down. But once in a while there came one that you couldn't politely refuse, and the saviours of Balamb would all be trotted out like neat little ponies. There had been an event yesterday, the dinner of some important politician. Quistis's teeth still ached from carefully faked smiling.

The only thing worse than paperwork. Diplomacy.

She glanced round her desk, and then at Selphie's and Irvine's. They were all in the same room and in the SeeD hierarchy, this meant that they were all important enough to have a desk, but not important enough to have an office each. It was a nice room, though, with high windows, plush carpets, and three desks.

 Selphie's desk was covered in pictures and posters, most of them featuring her and Irvine on some exotic vacation, cheerful and tanned.  Those that didn't showed the rest of the 'orphanage gang' as Selphie cheerfully referred to them, in various states of surprise, and at least one case, undress.  Piles of unchecked forms were dotted with hordes of miniature plastic trolls with identical Mohicans in a variety of neon colours. There were large trolls and small trolls, trolls in nurses' outfits and in suspenders and even one brown-haired one in a miniature SeeD uniform. Someone had inked in a diagonal scar across its face and a speech bubble saying "_whatever.."_ on its cheek. 

The stacks of forms made them all look like they were mountain-climbing. 

Lucky them.

Even being in the same room as Selphie's desk was guaranteed to put Quistis in a bad mood.

Irvine's desk was even worse. There were rumours that paperwork on Irvine's desk had independent life. There were whole plates of unfinished meals, oceans of pens, stacks of unopened mail, marked with increasingly desperate stamps "Please Read" "Urgent" "Very Urgent" "Emergency!!!" that had all, unsurprisingly, been ignored.

It was all covered with a thin layer of dust. Irvine was out on a mission and it looked like he'd be gone for weeks.

Quistis' desk, in contrast, had a cheerfully schizophrenic mood all of its own. Most of it was all Quistis, efficiently empty of paperwork, dusted, and neat. Piles of blank forms, each tagged with a colour-coded Post-It Note, were mathematically aligned with the edge of the desk, pens stood upright in regimented rows. Her computer, shiny and expensive, dominated the desk.  Or it would have if it wasn't for a myriad of small decorations that appeared to be on a hostile takeover. There were about ten of them, desk toys, most in shiny plastic.

The whole desk toys thing had started out with Selphie. Arguing that Quistis was way to organised for her own good, the hyperactive Trabian SeeD had given her a small box for a holiday gift, and then watched entranced as she'd opened it. Inside the holographic rainbow paper had been a small box marked with "Executive Stress Toy." 

It turned out to contain a clear plastic cylinder with a little ramp curling round the inside and a small container at each end. When you tipped the cylinder up, a series of pink globules dripped from a small hole and slid in a spiral down the inside of the tube to fill the bottom container, at which point you either turned it over and watched it all over again, or screamed and jumped out the window. It was water torture in disguise.  Quistis could think of nothing else that so perfectly embodied the sheer pointlessness of office work. 

She had quietly and politely filed the trinket in the dustbin and Selphie had quietly and politely fished it out every morning and put it back on her desk. In the end she'd given up the struggle, if only because it was so amusing to watch people's eyebrows try to climb up into their hairline every time they came into the room and noticed it on her pristine table.  Over the months it had been joined by others, gifts from SeeDs who'd assumed that Quistis collected the ugly little things, and Quistis had kept them because it was easier than throwing them away. 

Surprisingly, Squall had given her the only one she actually liked. Surprisingly, because she never thought Squall noticed anything personal. He'd come in one day to ask her about something, some time after Selphie had gifted her with the first toy, raised one eyebrow, said nothing, and left. The next holiday she'd found a matte black box on her desk _" with_ greetings from Squall and Rinoa".__

Unlike all the others, it was designed to screw onto the end of the desk, and consisted of a metal ball, on a string, attached to a thick lead plate that glued onto the top of her table leg. You dropped the ball, and it thwacked into the lead with a soft hollow _thump. Just once._

Quistis often wondered where Squall had managed to find something that sounded so perfectly like the noise of someone's head hitting a desk.   

She picked it up and let it fall.

_THUNK.___

Quistis glanced at the clock, another addition of Selphie's. On examination it seemed a perfectly ordinary timepiece, apart from that the numerals were replaced by silhouettes of common Balamb animals. When the hand reached the hour, the clock made the appropriate noise and annoyed the hell out of anyone around it, except Selphie, who insisted that it was cute. 

Quistis guessed that it had been quite expensive.

Currently it was forty-five minutes past Moomba, or a quarter to Chocobo: time to get to work, whatever way you measured time.

She switched her computer on, taking another swallow of the strong bitter coffee as it clicked and whirred its way thought the startup procedure.

Two waiting messages, both from Squall, or at least from Xu, who was currently acting as both Squall and Cid's receptionist-cum-watchdog and liason officer. Quistis didn't envy her.  She had enough to do trying to convince a bunch of spoiled first years that the whip really was a worthwhile weapon, she didn't need to deal with Squall's grudge against full sentences too.

She clicked on the first message.

_To: Quistis Trepe_

_From: Intelligence, B. Garden._

_Please find attached authorisation request for equipment for mission Delta one-three-six in Dollet.  Send any queried items to Supplies for further authorisation._

Quistis clicked on the attachment and scrolled down the text, looking for the request form. She noted idly that Irvine was on the mission.  Lucky him.

Boring, boring, ah, wait, requests:

_One hundred metres nylon rope.___

_One nun's habit.___

_Motorcycle.___

_Seven rolls duct tape._

The list grew longer. Hyne, what did they _need_ ten packs of Triple Triad cards for anyway? Not to mention the fertiliser.

Quistis called up the Supplies inventory and checked off the items, one by one, arranging for a driver to drop the motorcycle off in the Dollet airport long-stay car park, with the remaining equipment neatly packed in saddlebags, for the addresses and order forms of a religious supplies store and a farmer's merchant with instructions to drop their packages off at a weaponry store run by an ex-SeeD (the world seemed to be full of ex-SeeDs ) to pass the items on.  It was the kind of meticulous work she was good at, requiring endless cross-checking and organising. But that didn't mean she _liked_ it.

It was twenty past Snow Lion when she finished the request and clicked on the second message.

_To: Quistis Trepe._

_From: Intelligence, B. Garden.  _

_A background check has been requested on the following Cadets First Class,_

_Sally Ames_

_Royle__ Ayers_

_Marcella Grosvenor_

_Marie Laveau_

_Ayo__ Levitt_

_Please search histories for any sign of subversive elements. Use all the necessary precautions._

That was it.  Background checks on new cadets were routine, but there was no indication of what she was supposed to be looking for, or even a thank you. Subversive? It could be anything at all, from being a card-carrying member of the Rebel Alliance to listening to death metal in high school. 

Quistis decided to use her own initiative. Honestly. Sometimes she wondered whether the words 'Military' and 'Intelligence' could ever be reasonably used together.

She picked up her stress ball, gave it a good slam against the desk, and poured herself another coffee before she began hunting through the cadet lists. 

_S. Ames__._

Thirty-five minutes later her patience was just about exhausted.

Thirty-five minutes, and she still hadn't found anything at all suspicious on Cadet Sally Ames. High test scores, uneventful childhood, band practice, normal psychological profiles. The only thing that was weird about the girl, Quistis thought, was her joining Balamb Garden in the first place.

Oh well.

She clicked off the file, scrolled down the list of SeeDs, turned to the next name -and then hesitated.

Something familiar pressed its nose against the windows of her mind.

It was immediately wiped away by the sudden arrival of the post. A neat bundle of several letters and papers tied with an elastic band sailed across the room, sideswiped her coffee mug, skidded across the table trailing liquid and came to a wet, soggy mess in her lap.

Damn.  

The cadet on mail duty took one look at the expression on Quistis' face and fled.

Everyone knew no-one messed with the coffee.  There were dire stories of exactly what happened to people that did, and most of them ended with the words '_and he was never found again._'

She sighed (and the day had started off _so well) and started to lift the mail of her lap, piece by piece, dripping coffee._

The first item turned out to be the Balamb Garden weekly newspaper- Garden Times. She flipped idly through it, noting that seven more cadets had passed their final exams, that a new rowing machine had been bought for the gym, that there had been complaints that students were persistently sticking chewing gun under the cafeteria tables in clear violation of SeeD regulation 21a (part B) and would they please STOP IT RIGHT NOW. There was even a brief interview with Squall. His replies seemed to consist mostly of blank lines. 

Quistis grinned.  Squall _had_ got better, but not by much.  

  She flipped to the back page of the paper, newsprint sticking to her hands to leave grimy chiaroscuro fingerprints on coffeecup and desk. Ahh. The  weather.

The tiny pixelated map was dotted with little smiley suns, irritatingly cheerful. 

Damn. She'd been hoping for rain.  Lots of lovely rain, to make her feel better about being stuck inside, but no, it just had to be sunny, didn't it. Again. 

Quistis gave the bright sunlight pouring in through the window an evil look. Her eyes fell on the horoscope.

Oh, Hyne, not again.

She normally never read the horoscope, and not just because her personal opinion was that it was a load of hippy rubbish written by barefooted tree-huggers who had too much free time. Two month ago one of the more rabid Trepies had taken over, and ever since then Quistis' star sign had been filled with painfully precise predictions of heated romance with a certain ginger-haired cadet.

She glanced at it with the same fascinated horror that other people reserved for train wrecks. They weren't even in some kind of logical order, for Hyne's sake.

 Quistis scanned Aquarius ( _everyone__ thinks that you're an exciting and wonderful person…)  and Sagittarius. (__the__ hardest part of your year is over. Your horizons are opening out and a certain attitude adjustment will be needed. Instead of having choices forced upon you, you must now make and impose your own decisions.  Are you ready for the relationship that will change your life?) _

What kind of anencephalic asshole wrote this crap? 

Ah, here it was. Libra.

_You find yourself drawn more and more to the deep waters of true passion, wondering what it would be like and whether you could survive. Dare you do it? Romance will be found with a red haired man and the letter D. Contact the Astrologer for a personal consultation._

Why the hell should everyone with the same birthday have the same things happen to them anyway? Horoscopes did not compute. 

Quistis folded the paper neatly and dropped it in the rubbish bin.  Good riddance. Why did people even bother to print the boring stuff? What with internal gossip, if anything important happened in Garden it was all over the place in about three seconds. Waste of paper. And that damn cadet was a waste of space. Next time she saw him, she'd bust his ass. He'd be scrubbing the toilets with a toothbrush for weeks. His toothbrush.

Quistis smiled evilly and picked up the next letter. This one had been drowned in the coffee flood, but its plastic window was more or less intact. 

Why in Hyne's name did they even bother sending her all the junk mail anymore?

Ten minutes, four Readers Digest Prize Draws, eight magazine subscriptions, two competitions and a Trepie love letter later she was about ready to give up. Could you pull finger muscles? 

One last letter. Quistis glared as if expecting it to bite her fingers and pushed her spectacles up her nose. It was small, white, crumpled, and badly stained with coffee, which had reduced the address to a blue blur. 

It smelt good.

Mmmm-coffee. 

Quistis picked up her mug and made her way to the office coffee maker, the subject of not a few complaints and at least one sit-in after Irvine and Quistis had both refused adamantly to work without a drinks dispenser.  She watched as it gurgled into the mug, took a big swallow of the unsweetened bitter liquid and sat back down, cradling the cup in her hands.   

Happiness was coffee. Or if not, then it was damn close.

She ripped the top off the offending letter, sending flecks of paper showering across the desk in a miniature snowstorm. The torn sheet inside was still readable, if barely.

Exactly seven seconds later the mug dropped to the floor, spilling a tsunami of liquid and china shards across the carpet for the second time that morning.

_Instructor Trepe: c/o __Balamb__Garden__._

Anyone watching who was familiar with Quistis' poker face and moods would have noticed one of her fingers beginning to slowly tap on the desk. In the semaphore of body language, this coded for Anger.  The tiny puzzled wrinkles that appeared between her eyes, almost obscured by the crosspiece of her glasses, meant Doubt. And the very faint suggestion of a smile, if interpreted by a knowledgeable observer, might have implied happiness. 

The letter ended with a small scrawled doodle of something that could have been meant to be a cross, the bottom spike tapering to a triangle in place of a signature. There was a small and messy 'S' written directly below it, small enough that it might have been missed. It wasn't really necessary.

Seifer Almasy.

You _bastard.___

Quistis valiantly resisted the urge to bang her head against the computer monitor, picked up the letter and reread it carefully, scanning the text for clues as to where he might be. 

The postmark was unreadable and dated over four weeks ago.  A scrawl of redirections nearly covered the back. There was no forwarding address.

_Quistis_

The handwriting was certainly Seifer's angular scrawl, scarcely any different from how she remembered it and inked in a nondescript biro that could have come from anywhere. The style of writing was slightly more formal than she'd have expected him to use, but then, Quistis couldn't remember when she'd last caught Seifer writing anything voluntarily.   Except maybe ransom notes.

_I thought I owed you this….._

You were dead….

You _were_. I saw you.

She pushed her hair back from her face, exasperated.

Or I saw a body…

She should have known from previous experience that the only way to kill Seifer Almasy was to cut him into pieces, stamp on the pieces and bury them under a very large rock.  The man had more lives than a cat. The description was less than apt: Seifer also unfortunately rejected other catlike characteristics such as washing frequently and knowing when to walk away from fights.

Maybe it was a fake, some kind of trap. But why? The last she'd seen of the Galbadians, they'd all thought he was dead too. 

No. Only Seifer would have scribbled the fire cross at the bottom. And only Seifer would have written a letter containing absolutely no apology, no 'thank you for saving my life' which was ironic, but also extremely typical, seeing as the last time she'd fought with him she'd saved his butt at least once. Any normal person would have tried to be more grateful. Or at least faked it, just to be polite.

 So it had to be genuine. Which lead to the question, what should she do about it? 

_How am I going to tell Edea?  _

Their Matron had been devastated when Quistis had come back from Trabia with the news that Seifer was really dead this time. Her Knight. In some ways, maybe he'd been her favourite of all, and he was certainly the only person living who could emphasise with most of what she'd been through, apart from maybe Rinoa, but then Edea hadn't brought Rinoa up.  And Seifer had been the one person of the orphanage gang who'd stood by her. He'd done the wrong thing for all the right reasons. 

Some of the right reasons, anyway.

Some of the right reasons, and lots of the wrong ones.

 Quistis sighed. She rested her head in her hands, took off her glasses and placed them on the desk. Sometimes it just made sense to view the world with the fuzzy edges left in.

_All I have to do is pick up the phone. It'll make her so happy… and she's never been the same since it all happened…. but then how many times can she cope with all this? One minute he's dead, the next minute he's alive-_

Forget Edea. How many times could Quistis cope? And oh, yes, she was going to have to, because the lead weight of responsibility and Doing What Was Right had just fallen round her neck like a millstone.

_I'm the only one who knows._

_The selfish bastard.___

_I wish he'd never written._

The childish thought was out before she could stop herself.

With a groan Quistis steepled her hands in front of her, pressing cool fingers to her temples. Her head throbbed.

What in Hyne's name should I do?

_Relax. It's not the end of the world. _There was a faint memory of someone else's voice saying the words, a hint of laughter and teasing.  _This time tomorrow, it'll be all over and you'll wonder what you were making such a fuss about. Other noises associated with the memory slowly, the comforting flow of distant conversation, birds calling high above her head (seagulls?) footsteps crunching on a gravel path._

Matron?  

Quistis closed her eyes and tried to recall the words of the psychologist who'd counselled them all on the effect of GF induced memory loss. Relax. Let it come. Open yourself.

There was a sudden and incredibly annoying sense of something vital just beyond her reach.

Focus. Breath in and out. 

_Cookie?_

The noise of someone running up behind her, fast and untidy, and a sudden vision of pebbles and sand flying up behind small shoes.

WAAARK!

The scream sent Quistis bolt upright in her chair, nerves jangling and the threads of memory flying from her grasp. Hair falling round her face, she snatched her glasses up off the desk and looked wildly around.

The clockface started smugly back at her.

Ruby Dragon. Figured.   

Quistis slumped back in her seat with a sigh, ankles twining round the legs of her chair.  The bitter scent of spilled coffee drifted up from the floor. Right. Have to clean that one up. Soon. 

The letter stared back at her malevolently.

_Oh, Hyne.  _

Two options. Firstly, she could be a good little SeeD, go tell Squall, and then sit tight and deal with whatever diplomatic catastrophe finding that Seifer was alive again released this time. The practical, ruthless option. If it was true that a person's worth could be measured by the calibre of their enemies, then Seifer Almasy was a remarkable man. She'd heard many such remarks, most of them unprintable. 

Secondly, she could do nothing.

All a matter of trust.  Distrust, mistrust, whatever…

The letter indicated that Seifer had thought she was trustworthy.  That she'd be able to keep a secret. That he owed her the truth. And just because the truth might make a lot of people very unhappy wasn't an excuse for concealing it.

Was it?

_What the mind doesn't know the heart doesn't grieve after. _Another misbegotten snatch of mother-logic that might have been Edea, long ago, or one of her teachers..or maybe even real family. _The truth can make you free_. 

The truth could make Seifer dead. 

But then, legally, he was dead already. So she wasn't lying, just..not telling the truth.

The thought flicked a button in her brain. Of course .The cadet list.

The computer had long since gone into power save mode, activating a screensaver of dancing hippopotami. Quistis flicked a key, and the screen flickered into action, scrolling down a list of names in various brightly artificial colours. The name she'd just checked, S Ames, was in green script, indicating a trainee. Seifer's name, three spaces above it, was in black. This only confirmed what Quistis, until two minutes ago had thought she knew.  Dead. 

She clicked on his name and typed 'request files' in the box that came up.

Maybe she'd be able to work out exactly where he'd gone…..old family links, something. 

The computer gave a loud and angry bleep.

ACCESS DENIED.

She retyped her password into the box that blinked up.

ACCESS DENIED. You do not have clearance for this file. Please contact administrator.

But that was fine.  Quistis still had a couple of tricks up her sleeve. Three times was the charm, before the program latched onto what she was doing and alerted security. 

She tapped her pen idly on her spectacle frames, humming under her breath.  Password, password. 

Aah.

Her hand hovered over the keyboard for a second, and then typed in 'geraldo' in the box. The password appeared as a string of small asterisks. Enter. She crossed her fingers. Not many people knew that one of the passwords for the highest level of clearance was the name of Cid's stuffed ex-pet Chihuahua.

Thank Hyne for Xu.

The computer whirred thoughtfully, flickered and then displayed a list of files.

Bingo.

"Quistis!" The jubilant words floated round the door, followed by the strange hairstyle of Balamb Garden's newly voted 'SeeD Most Likely To Be On Mind-Altering Medication', Selphie Tilmitt.

A guilty flush spread across Quistis' face, but Selphie didn't seem to notice.

"Morning, Selphie."

Her finger flicked the keyboard, activating the screensaver. At the same time her left hand reached for the letter, crumpling it into a safe ball and stuffing it in the pocket of her sweatpants.  

Selphie shot her a glance. "You're early. Been working out again?"

Quistis tried not to look guilty. Other people could lie like a rug and still keep a straight face, but she'd never acquired the knack, somehow. "Uh, yeah. The training centre's so quiet at this time in the morning."

The grin threatened to split Selphie's head in two." Training centre. Riight." She held up a finger. "Just one tip. Beware of the Weirdos in the Bushes."

As Quistis' face turned beetroot red, she licked the finger and placed it against her cheek. "Szzzz. You're blushing"

"But I'm not.."

"That's what they all say." A sweep of Selphie's arm sent trolls tumbling for cover. "So who is he? Anyone I know.?" She stuffed papers under her arm while simultaneously giving Quistis an evil smirk across the desk and making a suggestive gesture with her free hand. "Is he..um, ya know..?" 

Quistis tried desperately to change the subject with a large fake smile. Move on, folks, nothing to see here. "So, how's Irvine doing?"

Selphie's grin widened until it would have shamed a Cheshire cat.  "The cowboy's just fine. Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." She leaned over the desk and glanced at her watch, her other hand absently flipping over a couple of Quistis' more poisonous looking desk ornaments. "Got to fly. Lesson.  Catch ya later."

She swept out of the office like a hurricane in miniature, trailing forms and trolls. 

"Not if I can help it " Quistis muttered. A flick of her finger activated the computer.

Right.

The files labelled were mostly standard procedure, reports, test results, medical checkups. She scrolled to the more recent and then hesitated as she saw her own name. Of course. The mission report from Trabia. A hint of bitterness coloured her thoughts. No liar like someone who thinks that she's telling the truth, Seifer.

_Why didn't you tell me?_

Asshole.

Quistis scrolled back along the dated list. The search was a guilty secret curiosity, something like going through a friend's closets. She'd never even looked at her own files before, let alone anyone else's that she hadn't clearance for.

They were surprisingly boring, the same headings flicking past on the screen, annual health checks, reports, exams, over and over again. Lots of reports. Quistis imagined they were probably filled with comments like "get this horrible child out of my class NOW" scrawled along the top.

Certainly a fair portion of her reports on him had been.

She watched the dates diminish along the right hand side of the screen until they suddenly and abruptly stopped, the cursor blinking next to a date twelve years earlier than what she would have expected

Didn't Seifer _have any files from before he came to Garden? Maybe it was an orphanage thing. Did she have the same blanks on her record? Or maybe the files were elsewhere. Surely Edea would know._

Quistis stopped that thought right there. If she asked Edea, she'd want to know what the hell Quistis wanted them for, and well, perhaps it wasn't a good idea to tell her, not now, perhaps not ever.

She clicked on the last file and then waited impatiently while it loaded, the old computer whirring.   The sound of footsteps in the corridor made her jump and then relax as a cadet considered straight on past without looking.

Honestly.

_Never try subterfuge, girl,_ she told herself.

There was a click as the page finished loading, displaying the data on screen.

It seemed to be compiled as several pages of forms, listing the application paper, medical and psychological tests that all cadets had to complete before they were green-lighted for admission. Quistis recognised it vaguely from her own testing, and then was surprised she'd even bothered to remember it.

Not surprisingly, there wasn't any place-of-birth listed and the space for parent/sponsor name gave 'E & C Kramer' as legal guardians.  

So _that_ was a dead-end. No family, place of birth, zip, nada, nothing.

Maybe medical records?

Quistis hummed as she typed the request, feeling slightly less guilty as it became clear that she wasn't going to find anything. 

The medical reports were old, scanned-in copies of paper forms probably dating from before Balamb had a network. The handwriting was curly and hard to read, ink obviously faded even before the files had been added to the computer records. 

More importantly, the space for 'current physician' was blank.

Quistis sighed and stared out of the window.

 She should get back to work.  This obviously wasn't going to lead anywhere, except down murky roads she wasn't particularly sure that she wanted to travel. What was it Xu had said when she started accessing the database? "Never look at a friend's medicals, it can kill the romance real fast."

Which might have had some bearing, if they _were_ friends. And Xu had definitely used the word in the biblical sense.

Oh well. Quistis pushed up her spectacles and rubbed her aching eyes. Her brain hurt, and she could always think about it later….surely it was almost noon by now, and she'd hardly got a thing done.

Her glasses dropped down onto her nose and she pushed the cursor back to the top of the page to click the records off when a stray word caught her eye, outlined against the jumble of old-fashioned blurry handwriting.  

Wait a second.

Quistis scowled at the page, deciphering the faded cursive script letter by sloping letter. 

_"…subject was found to have healed fractures in right humerus, right clavicle, left metacarpals two, three & four, proximal left carpals two & five, left radius & ulna, costal ribs twelve and thirteen…when questioned subject referred to childhood accidents..  _

_…above average height and weight for age…___

_…..on balance we find subject in perfect current health and recommend that no rejection can be made for service on physical grounds.."_

_Interesting.___

Shit, Seifer, what were you in, a car wreck?

_I…_

BZZZT!

The small sound made Quistis launch herself halfway across her chair, clicking the file off reflexively and wildly scanning the room for intruders, or worse, Selphies.

Nothing.

Heart beating fast, she relaxed, and then cursed as the message icon flashed up on her screen, cheerful cartoon face stating 'You've got mail!' with the bright yellow script and emphatic exclamation mark that often made her want to punch it in the head. Whoever thought that people wanted to be around a lot of yellow, especially first thing in the morning? 

Quistis sighed, took a big swallow of her now almost-cold coffee, and clicked on the animated icon. 

_To: Quistis Trepe_

_From: Headmaster's Office._

_Squall Leonhart requests your company in his office at the earliest convenience. _

Or, Get your ass down here. Now.

_Damn._

Quistis' brain froze for a moment, her hand flying to the letter in her sweatpants pocket

_He knows. _

_How can he? _Quistis resisted the temptation to ascribe Hynelike qualities to her boss. _Damn. Security isn't that good. I've met them. I've met him_

_No way._

_This is going to be some obscure little summons for something I've forgotten about weeks ago_. 

_It's the letter. It can't be the letter._

She swallowed, the sound seeming suddenly loud in the silent room.

_Dead?__ He's going to wish he'd stayed dead by the time I get my hands on him. _

The letter weighed heavy as lead in Quistis' pocket until she was half-expecting it to rip right through the seams to make a neat hole in the floor, and carry right on down till it fell out the bottom of Garden. Sweat prickled in the palms of her hands and the roots of her hair.

The HMS Quistis Trepe was now officially a nervous wreck.  She shut down the computer with shaking hands. The keys stuck guiltily to her damp fingertips.

 _Think, damn you._

Quistis pushed her chair back, ran her hands through her sweaty hair and then rebraided it in a businesslike bun. Her hairpins skewered the neat globe precisely as thrown knives.    No point in going into whatever kind of conversation this was going to be unprepared. She gave a single critical glance down at her casual clothes. Should have changed, but it was too late now.

She stood, shook the creases out of her trousers and vest and rested her palms on the windowsill for a second, trying to relax and calm her breathing. They left damp handprints on the sill. Her heart thumped in her chest like a nervous animal's as Quistis wondered exactly what was wrong with her. She hadn't been this wired since her final exams, and she'd walked them.

Scene one: It's all some kind of mistake and you're getting upset over nothing

She liked scene one.

Scene two: He's going to ask me if I know anything and then I can show him the letter. I didn't show it him before because I was busy. Seifer's in prison, all's right with the world.

Scene three: I'm going down for concealment of evidence and aiding and abetting a known criminal. 

The third scenario ran through Quistis' head on replay no matter how unlikely she told herself it was. Failure. Prison. Even worse.._demotion. _

Breathe.

She turned and strode casually towards the headmaster's office. The feeling of nervous apprehension, though by no means an uncommon emotion for most cadets summoned to the room, was a new one for her, and she analysed it carefully. Equal parts of fear, guilt and anger arrayed themselves in neat ranks on the microscope slide of her mind. Sympathetic nervous system activated in fight-or-flight response, symptoms as follows: sweating, dry mouth, vasoconstriction leading to pallor, bronchodilation and hyperventilation, the scientific words running easy as blinking through her head.

The air felt cool on her sweaty skin as she reached Xu's desk. Xu was the closest thing that Quistis had to a real best friend, the kind girls like Rinoa and Selphie seemed to pick up as easily as smallpox, although the nearest thing they'd ever got to a women's night in was meeting in a café for some girl talk and a game of canasta, and she glanced up smiling as Quistis approached.

"Quistis! Squall said he wanted to see you. There's ten minutes before he has to se the Galbadian trade delegation, so you better be quick." She shot Quistis a sharp and assessing glance that went straight to the target as normal. "Are you all right? You look pale."

She managed to force the words out through the lump in her throat. "Fine."

Xu regarded her curiously but said nothing. "Go right in."

Quistis pushed open the door. 

The headmaster's office was all old-school formality, as usual. So far Cid had refused Squall's requests for redecoration, and mentally reviewing Squall's choice in clothing, Quistis thought that was just as well.

Despite what Xu had said, the room was empty. Squall had somehow managed to leave almost no trace of his personality on it. The pictures on the wall were left over from Cid's tenure as headmaster and unlike Quistis, Squall had wisely avoided any kind of desk ornament. In fact, the heavy desk was empty except for a carefully framed photograph of Rinoa, a large pile of forms and two books.

Quistis squinted and turned her head sideways to read the titles. Chicken Soup For The Stressed Mercenary's Soul lay beneath a small, leather bound and open journal she recognised as one of the free diaries they'd all been presented with. After recognising the amnesia caused by GF use, Cid had insisted that all of the Sorceress's War Heroes be given psychiatric appointments designed to 'help them cope' with the stress.

She'd been bored silly, personally. Logic puzzles were no problem for a person with an IQ off the scale. Squall had refused to play along with the Rorschach ink-blot testing, describing each diagram flatly as 'Ink'.  Irvine had said that they all reminded him of 'Sex-because everything does.' He'd diagnosed Selphie as manic-depressive, and then looked surprised when she'd threatened to hit him with the chair.

Quistis had heard the psychiatrist muttering something about how they all obviously must have brain-damage, never mind amnesia when he stormed out. But before he'd left they'd all been given a diary each, with instructions to write down their memories and use then to guard against any further GF-induced amnesia. 

Quistis' was propping up the table in her room.

Squall's had obviously seen a bit more use. 

Quistis sidled over to the table, in a nonchalant manner, so that a casual observer might have thought that she had just moved to admire the view. As she passed the desk her gaze just happened to fall onto the open pages of the journal.

There was a date scrawled in Squall's angular hand on the first page. Underneath were two words.

_Got Diary.___

 Out of curiosity, she picked it up and riffled through the pages. Dust came off them. The whole book was blank except for a few doodled phone numbers on the back page and a scribbled memo to 'Meet Rinoa for dinner Thurs PM.'

So much for an insight into his tortured soul, although Squall really wasn't that tortured any more unless he wanted to be. She'd heard that Rinoa had bought fluffy handcuffs from one of Selphie's catalogues. Sometimes he even spoke in snatches of more than one sentence, and though Quistis knew he must get bored with the endless delegations and events, he hid it passably. At least, only those familiar with Squall's moods recognised his 'I'm-so-bored-I could-just-stab-myself-through-the head-with-my-fork' variation of his poker face which looked amazingly like his' I'm really interested, please do go on' poker face.

She put the little book down, trying vainly to wipe smeared fingerprints off with her sleeve. A second surreptitious glance at the desk revealed no clue to the real reason of her summons and the waiting was beginning to get on her nerves. Damned if she was going to be chewed out by Squall in front of a gawking herd of Galbadian officials.

The door creaked open.   

Squall shut the door quietly and stepped over the chewed remnants of what had to be Angelo's bed.   Today he just looked tired.

"You're late" Quistis's nervousness made her slip back into the older familiar roles of instructor and pupil before she remembered.  A wave of blush rolled up from her throat like a great red tidal wave.

Squall either didn't notice, or decided to let it go. His voice was carefully noncommittal. "Training. Hard to get a minute to do anything now. Except work."

They shared a smile, mutual sympathy almost but not quite overcoming Quistis' mood of vague apprehension. Squall placed his gunblade carefully in its case and gestured to a towel. "You mind?"

She shook her head, not really knowing what the hell she was agreeing to. She was slightly disappointed despite herself when all he did was rub his hair vigorously a few times before combing his hair into semi-domestication, meaning that it still looked like a dusty and feminine pincushion. Quistis thought he looked absurdly cute.

_You _have_ to get yourself a piece of that….down girl._

She decided to change the subject, flicking her hair from her eyes in pretence of collected calm. 

 "So, where's Rinoa?"

Squall pulled back the chair and settled in behind the desk, resting his elbows on the tabletop with a bony thud. His eyes unfocused. " Camping. In the woods near FH. He smiled. "She's wet. Doesn't like it much."

Quistis mentally kicked herself for asking such an obvious question. They'd found out soon after the wars that Squall and Rinoa pretty much kept track of everything the other one was doing. Something to do with the whole sorceress thing, she guessed. "No, I mean..why's she there?"  

Squall shrugged with one shoulder. "Part of her training. She can't be the SeeD PR liason officer without knowing what we do." A quiet grin. "It'll be good for her."

Quistis agreed mentally that was a sure thing. In her opinion, anyone who used the amount of personal grooming products Rinoa did was in need of a serious attitude adjustment, not that she disliked the girl. They'd long accepted her as one of them, and well, she'd done wonders for Squall, but there was just something so….well, _unprofessional about Rinoa.  If Quistis had been heading the Forest Owls during the wars they would have probably assassinated the president themselves and be well on the way to world domination. _

She realised she was drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.

Squall shot her a mildly curious look and Quistis decided to bite the bullet, dropping easily into Formal Mode.. "So, sir, what did you want to see me for?"

"Holiday, Quistis."

"Sir?" Quistis' fingers flew to the note in her pocket as she wondered whether this was some kind of new code for being expelled from SeeD, with extreme prejudice.

_They expel you…..and your desk…..and your pencils, but look on the bright side, at least the desk ornaments would go too.._

Squall turned to root in the depths of one of the capacious filing cabinets behind him .He pulled a file out, throwing it onto the desk to fan neatly typed sheets and photos across the paperwork.    

"Xu pointed out that you haven't taken any vacation time for over a year. I think you've got some due."

"Have there been complaints?" Quistis guiltily snatched her hand away from the note in her pocket, her heartrate beginning to subside. Had she done something wrong, or not? She couldn't work it out at all. 

"None."

"Oh."  Quistis picked up a stray brochure. "Isn't there any mission I could go on, or something? I'm just in the middle of teaching the advanced combat classes right now and it's always so busy at this time of year." She turned the paper over to find that the people on the cover were involved in suspect sports activities with big, big beachballs while wearing very little clothing.

Squall sighed. "One, this is the quietest time we've had since the wars. Two, no diplomatic events are scheduled until Rinoa gets back from boot camp, or, as we like to call it, 'character development.' Three, it states quite clearly in clause thirty-six of the SeeD handbook that every active member is to take at least three weeks paid vacation time a year except in exceptional circumstances as I'm sure you'll appreciate, increased levels of stress can lead to reduced performance and unnecessary risks."

"I'm not stressed…."

 "Did I say you were?"

"Well, yes, and .."

He cut her speech off with a hand. "Quistis, I'm sure after what happened last winter you could do with some vacation."

"Your schedule's fuller than Selphie at an all-you-can-eat buffet special and you're telling me to take time off?"    

 "Quistis, this is not the issue here…" Squall's poker face was beginning to crack.

"You can't force me to take a holiday." The thought appalled her. All that work, just not getting done. Building up. She was going to spend the whole time just worrying about the amount of stuff she'd have to do when she got back 

He pushed the folder towards her and Quistis recoiled from it as if it were a snake. "Well actually we can. Your ticket's already booked. The train leaves tomorrow, early. It's all been taken care of, hotel bookings, transport, allowances, the whole lot. Southern Trabia/Esthar border, little town called Hana. You'll like it."

 "Or what?" The light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be an oncoming train. The pictures in the brochure looked nice enough, but what in Hyne's name was she going to _do?_

"No arguments. You're going." Flatly. "The class…"

"Will manage. I'll get Selphie in to teach them, Or maybe Zell. Or I'm sure we can find someone else" he raised an eyebrow "who's good with a whip." 

Quistis smiled sweetly "Will you be taking auditions?"

Squall was saved from replying by the buzz of the intercom, Xu's voice was tinny but recognisable."…ir..? albadian…elega…tion..here. In the Slightly Oval Office." 

It sounded as if she was talking out of a jar. 

"I'll be there." Squall was already getting up from the desk and moving to the door, obviously considering the conversation over, thank Hyne. "And Quistis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Have fun." The door slammed behind him in emphatic punctuation that sounded like the tread of doom.

Quistis muttered 'and your hair looks like a hedgehog'under her breath at the unresponding wood.

Fun.

 They couldn't force her to have fun. Or it wouldn't be fun. The whole point of fun was that it was voluntary.  And this wasn't. 

She flicked through the folder out of morbid curiosity. They'd thought of everything, or at least Xu had. There were train tickets there and back, hotel reservations, and a generous living allowance inked in. Damn the woman. Quistis knew what was good for herself, and it certainly wasn't a holiday. 

However, she thought, a holiday _would give her a chance to decide what to do about the letter. It hadn't been dated, so Squall wasn't going to know when she'd got it, is and when she decided to tell him. And in three weeks, she was going to have plenty of time to think._

Discalimer: as everyone knows, I do not own any of the ff8 characters. Nor do I own some of the quotes and one-liners scattered round the fic. I collect funny one-liners magpielike and can't always remember where I got them, or even if I just made them up. More obvious injokes..Quistis' desk ornament thing is very much like Richard Mayhew's collection of trolls in Neil Gaiman's novel Neverwhere. Selphie got the trolls. The desk toy Squall gave her is Death's from one of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels. The town Hana is imaginary but its name of course is instantly recognisable to any Strangers In Paradise fan as the town on Maui where the cast go to think and angst the hell out of everyone within nine yards.

Government Bloodhounds summary for all those interested:

Seifer comes out of time compression and finds work as an assassin in an urban slum until a crop of wanted posters appear with his face on them. Realising that he's wanted by both Martine and Cid, he starts running and is caught by an ex-Seed somewhere in the snowbound Trabian woods, Quistis is sent to take him back to Balamb Garden for trial or exoneration, and given a sensor linked to her vital signs that allows her to

track his movements and cause acute pain when she feels like it. On the way to the ship they run into a party of Galbadian soldiers.

Later, forced into an uneasy truce, they take refuge from hungry monsters in an

abandoned mansion, but it's not quite as abandoned as they think, and its

supernatural inhabitant turns out to have an unhealthy interest in the Sorceresses' Knight. While Seifer fights both his inner demons and the one searching for a foothold in his subconscious, Quistis has to figure out a way to reach a truce with the Galbadians and get them both out of there alive and sane.  She fails-or does she?

Chapters two and three should have a bit more explanation as far as the plot of GB goes…but if you liked this fic, why not read the prequel?  
  



	2. Chapter Two South Down The Coast

Chapter Two: South Down the Coast

Well I woke up in midafternoon, 'cause that's when it all hurts the most.

I dream I never know anyone at the party, and I'm always the host.

If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts.

You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast.

Counting Crows: Mrs Potter's Lullaby(edit)

Where are you now? 

Broken up or still around? 

The  CIA says you're a guilty man

Will we see the likes of you again? 

Manic Street Preachers: Let Robeson Sing

The title picture didn't show on the last one. This time I'll try a different format. It's still up at  and it's not going away .:D

The train delivered Quistis to Hana one afternoon in the manner of an unwanted parcel. Quistis, predictably, hated it.

She hated the general forced we're-here-to-have-fun-and-by-Hyne's-name-we're-going-to air, the baking hot weather that forced all but the most dedicated sunworshippers inside at noon, the small and annoyingly sticky children, the gangs of drunk teenage boys that roamed the streets every evening, pathetic in their desperation for a good time.   

On the face of it she supposed Hana wasn't all bad. The town's olde world fishing village charm that had probably attracted people in the first place was still present in places, if slapped over with a fresh coat of paint and covered with neon and candyfloss and the surroundings were pretty enough, if arid. The boats still went out every morning and came back in every evening. Little shoals of multicoloured fish swirled round the harbour for scraps when the kids went crabfishing and the shops hawked paper cones of shrimp as well as T-shirts and candy.

Quistis had to admit that the major problem was her.

She just didn't know what to do with herself. Everything irritated her with its sheer disorganisation.

The first night she'd unpacked her case at the hotel with a similar kind of forced desperation to the daytrippers (thanks to Squall's enjoy-or-else speech) and  unloaded her meagre store of possessions around the room in a vain attempt to make the place look lived in.   With absolutely no idea what she was going to do, she booted up her laptop and decided to check the list of potential students for her next class only to find that someone had locked it, except for a small cache of game files and an electronic message to 'have FUN!'

 Fun. Quistis was really beginning to resent that word, as well as her friends' assumption that she had no kind of social life outside of Garden whatsoever, which she was beginning to realise was right.  

Selphie had put Snake on her computer.

_Snake_. On her _computer_.

Snake.On _her _computer. 

The thought was an indecency. Computers were for work, plus, the game was frankly annoying. Annoying and pointless, because since when was guiding tiny pixellated serpents around a blank screen actually going to help her _do anything? _

Other sources of entertainment had to be found, and Quistis conscientiously tried most of what Hana had to offer. The beach was hot, and noisy, and cramped, and the people that crowded close and jumped into the shallow water with the tenacity of lemmings made her nervy and on edge. The shops sold nothing she wanted to buy. The movies were boring, and more importantly, unrealistic.  The restaurants and bars seemed to be full of lonely single men with pocketfuls of lame chat up lines, and frankly if she had to hear one more question like "Do you like the sun? because baby you are HOT" then civilian casualty or no civilian casualty Hyne help her someone was going to have his heart cut out with the soup spoons.      

She settled on a kind of compromise in the end after three days of desperate attempted work, rising early for a training run when the streets were empty and the weather still cool and then reading or walking her bad mood off in the hills around the town.

It was the fourth day in June when her comfortable and boring routine abruptly changed.

Quistis knew this because the evening before she'd reluctantly bought a paper to read while she took a bath. Reluctantly, because she had a junkie's need to find out exactly what was going on at Garden but their military coverage was useless. 

Quistis had mixed feelings about this. On the positive side it was at least protecting Garden from yet more mostly unwanted press attention. However, on the negative side, she really, really wanted to know what was going on, and that didn't include some carefully primed journalist's third-hand account of some incident of minor importance. 

She flicked through the rest of the paper. The only story even mildly related to Garden was an article on Mysterious Meteorite Strikes in Balamb. It went into so much depth on alien sightings and featured so many experts' testimonies that it almost convinced Quistis, whose own theory was based solely on watching Selphie almost crash the Raganarok into a group of trees in an attempt to break the sound barrier.

She ripped the page out, and concentrated on folding a small paper aeroplane out of the wreckage.

After she'd finished that, the crossword puzzle took her all of ten minutes to do.  The Cryptic crossword took fifteen. She consciously avoided turning to the Horoscope page while she read the paper from cover to cover, flicking over page three (fake) and the letters (some extremist cult banging on about child exploitation in the Gardens)

She consoled herself with the reasoning that any attempt of world-threatening nature would probably be reported in the press. Possibly in the obituaries.

Probably.

Damn this.

Quistis closed her eyes and then fell asleep in the bath. At three a.m. she grumpily hauled herself out with a crick in the neck and skin like bubblewrap. She didn't put the paper away and it lay for a few minutes in the breeze from the open window, casually ruffling its pages to the world before a freak gust of wind pushed it into the tub, which Quistis had forgotten to empty.

A casual observer would have noticed that it eventually fell open at the Horoscope page.

_Libra: _

_You may be feeling ennui and questioning the meaning of life. Events in the past suddenly take on an importance that you may not have expected and you may be called on to make some tough decisions. Act with confidence and follow your instincts and you may be pleasantly surprised by the results. Goats may be hazardous to your health._

Quistis would have been surprised to know that it was perfectly correct except for the goats.

The paper slowly dissolved to paste in the tub as Quistis fell asleep.

Seifer woke up.

On a one to ten scale of awakenings, it rated better than most. Arms, check, legs, check. . The clock said five a.m and outside the sky was just lightening, a wind blowing fresh off the sea to rattle the blinds.

He'd had the dreams again. They hadn't been too bad for once, better than the really weird ones that came drifting out of the little mental box in his subconscious marked "Beware Of the Leopard, Please Do Not Open", odd memories and flashbacks that only seemed to make sense in the early hours of the morning.

  As always, they were persistent, and disturbingly vivid. Thankfully they didn't show up every night, but often when they did he didn't get much sleep. Recently it had been bad enough to make him wonder if he needed to think about sleeping pills or something and that had been one hell of a big mistake. Damn stuff didn't stop you having dreams, it just stopped you waking up from them.

No fun at all.

  Seifer sighed. Swimming round his subconscious was like waving your feet in a shark pond for kicks. He stared up at the ceiling, crooking one arm behind his head for a pillow. Cracked, like everything in this damn house, him included.

He reached for smokes and lighter without getting out of bed, lit up and inhaled, staring at the ceiling as little flakes of ash drifted into the sheets.   

The flat wasn't much, and that would have been an understatement. Living in a military academy meant that you soon learnt to tolerate shared rooms little bigger than a shoebox, but at least they weren't falling apart. He hated to think what the place would be like in winter.  

Winter had been five months ago.

It seemed like a lifetime.

After leaving Gen's, Seifer had walked back to southern Trabia, carefully avoiding Marduk, and then walked further south on the railroad tracks with no greater aim than to go somewhere sunny where people weren't trying to kill him all the time.  He'd done a number of minimum-wage part-time jobs, from which he'd reached three conclusions, that illegal work was far easier to get than people thought, that a normal life was way overrated, and that having no money really, really sucked.

Of course, normal was what you made of it. 

Ironic, really. There had been so many times in Garden when Seifer had dreamed of kicking over the traces, leaving to find somewhere else when nobody told him what to do or when to do it. The trouble was, like so many things in life, the whole idea of freedom was just a pair of socks wrapped up in one big fancy package. Work or Starve. 

It wasn't really a choice.

Plus, of course, the whole fake identity thing really screwed things up. Most people assumed that you had something to hide if you didn't look anything like your identity card photo, and they would of course, have been dead right, Seifer's ID had once belonged to one Dave Matthews late of Marduk, Trabia, who had made the mistake of trying to mug him but who had instead been taught a lesson. It had been a valuable lesson of the sort that you could learn only once.

The cigarette smoke spiralled in a blue haze to the ceiling and a second clock check confirmed that it was now 5.05 am. 

Seifer leant out of bed and reached for a book. He wasn't usually much of a reader, but well, you had to do something on your days off.  An afternoon's surreptitious searching in the local library had yielded no less than ten volumes concerning the sorceresses. Or more importantly, their Knights. 

It had taken Seifer several days to work his way through them all. He'd bookmarked the relevant pages with torn off parts of cigarette packets and newspapers that bristled from the pages. Several of them had scrawled notes that he scanned absently, the smell of nicotine and smoke mingling with the scent of dusty crumpled books. 

The oldest book was little more than a collection of legends, fairy stories. The myth of the sorceress was _ancient, and every sorceress had her Knight, the steel against steel, to match the magic against magic.  His memories of the wars were blurred at the best of times, but Seifer could have sworn, and often had, that Edea had been fond of telling him to "go fight these fifteen people for me" and then getting pissed when he got his ass kicked. Funny how it was only evil when the bad guys outnumbered people six to one._

He'd been surprised to learn that the Knights had played many parts, advisor, tactician, champion, warlord, all roles recorded in loving biased detail. Although the legends might be vague when it came to what the sorceresses in olden times had actually done, they were painfully precise when recording what had happened to them. Most of them had illustrations, save for the oldest ones, which had even more enthusiastically detailed woodcuts. 

 Burned at the stake. Beheaded. Put to the question, and it probably wasn't  "what is your favourite colour".  Defeated.  Insane. Dead. Worse, defeated, then insane, then dead, choose your order, one at a time or all together.

The text regarding the knights was much the same, though vaguer. Most had died defending their sorceresses, that was their job, after all, and those that hadn't had followed shortly after. One book noted cheerfully that a medieval knight had been hanged and dismembered and buried in seven graves.

He picked up the newest text, an article that explored the psychological powers of sorceresses.  It had a glossary twice as long as the actual journal, which was never a good sign, and had been padded out at the back with a thick sheaf of diagrams featuring  little cartoon brains, arrows and chemical names. 

Seifer thought he preferred the woodcuts. He ran a finger along the lines of closely printed text.

_" the__ relationship of a Sorceress and her Knight is of particular interest. This has been postulated (Odine) to vary between avatars but all seem to involve a psychological bond of unusual intensity. Therefore disruption of the partnership can only be broken by the death or repossession of one of the parties, however this has rarely been studied as due to the intense nature of the bond survivors in times of crisis are rare. Nevertheless, it is certainly possible that such individuals would suffer severe psychological disturbance and it is doubtful whether normal function could be ever be retained."_

Seifer wondered what Edea was doing, right now, and whether her 'normal functions' were okay. Sighing, he let the paper drop to the floor and then, after a second's thought, picked it up and held his lit cigarette to the corner of the article. The paper smouldered and then slowly ignited, hungry orange flames creeping up to char the author's name. It took some time to crisp all the letters after, but he managed it eventually. Dr. Hiroaki Samura, LL, MD, ……whatever. Burn, you fucker.

And it did, until the flames reached Seifer's fingers and he shook the paper out with a curse 

Samura, huh? What did he know? Sure, he'd only spent half his life studying this shit, but he bet he'd spent the whole of the sorceresses' wars hiding behind a sofa. Both of them.

_I will give you dreams. _

Get the hell outa my head_. _

Seifer dragged a hand over his face and got up, feet crisping the charred paper remnants to ash.

The clock said five-fifteen. Breakfast time. He took a packet of cereal off the sink and slammed it onto the table, spraying little wheaty Os like miniature shrapnel.  Five minutes' hard searching in the depths of the washing up bowl revealed a last semi-clean spoon, stained indelibly with coffee dregs, and a chipped bowl. Right. Cereal, bowl and spoon. Something was missing. 

Milk.

Seifer's fridge was tiny, one of the portable models students used for orange juice and chocolate bars. Tiny, and currently occupied only by four parts of a six-pack of beer.

He thought for maybe one second about the taste of cereal in beer, cursed, slammed the door closed, kicked it shut when it swung open and then sat on the open windowsill and ate cereal straight from the packet in between drags on the cigarette. 

The bay looked calm and tranquil in the early morning light. Some fishing boats were already beginning to set off into the sun. If he'd been the kind of person to notice things like that, they would have been pretty.  

_Worthless child.___

He shook his head. Whatever. Time to go. 

Seifer shrugged on carefully nondescript clothes and pulled on his boots. He needed to replace them sometime soon, but then he'd long ago got used to wearing the same clothes until they wore out. The jeans were frayed and worn along the bottom, thinning to whitely soft almost-holes in the knees, and the T-shirt more grey than black. His boots were the best of the lot, scuffed and revealing metal caps in places, and even they weren't going to last the season. Seifer tried not to think about winter, hard and bleak in towns like this with the tourists gone, no work, no money and nothing but storms and rain on the weather forecast. Right now there was work, which was good, even if it was boring, a cycle of working at crappy jobs to earn money to get food to live and work at crappy jobs. No point wondering about the future, or even the past with its painful memories and more painful pain.

Five thirty.

His boots bounced on the steps as he made his way down to the street, crumbling little flakes of rust into the grass underneath. The shop below his room was boarded up and had been for some time, salt sea air hastening the decline of what had once been some kind of hardware store. Unpainted boards blanked out the windows but left splintering cracks to peer into the quiet rooms, dust-sheets enveloping counters in pale and mysterious shrouds. Above, the sign had been pulled off and the exposed metal rivets, corroding gently, trailed long tears of rust down the boarding.

Seifer trailed past it without looking, dried dead grass left parched from the summer weather rattling at his legs as he walked through the remains of the parking lot on his way to the seafront. It was quiet in that early-morning way of usually busy places, trash blowing forlornly in the breeze, and his footsteps clumped echoing down the street.

It was already hot. In a way, the weather was good, Seifer had never liked the cold, and this dislike had been magnified since the winter spent freezing his ass off in Trabia. Plus, it guaranteed some kind of tolerable temperature out at sea, where it could be damn cold at the same time as people on land were wandering happily round in shorts. 

He sauntered down the road, if not quite happy then at least warmly content, smoking, thoughts blank with determined early morning tiredness. The harbour area was almost empty by the time he got there so he settled down on a fishbox to wait, resting against the chainlink fence guarding the cannery. If he squinted, the mast of the _Ophelia_, a forty-foot trawler and his current meal ticket, could just be seen at the end of the jetty poking up from behind the cannery roof.

If ships were like women, the _Ophelia would have been the kind that only started to look attractive after ten pints of beer.  She wouldn't have made it onto any picture postcards even in her best days, and she'd seen most of thirty years go by. Rust stained every exposed surface, and the wake that flowed behind them every morning as the boat chugged asthmatically out of the harbour was always glazed with a thin sheen of oil. _

The crew was little better. Rafe was the nominal owner of the ship, a thin and wizened man stained brown from too many years working out at sea. He called Seifer Mike, but then he called everyone Mike, even his son, Rob. Rob never called anyone anything because he never said a word. And then there was Seifer.

However they had one major advantage, as far as Seifer was concerned. They didn't appear to care about anything, except fishing, and as long as you got the work done, they asked no questions and paid cash in hand. In fact, if several Ruby Dragons had floated down from the sky and danced a cancan round the docks, neither would have said a thing. Sailing with them was certainly peaceful, or it would have been, if it hadn't been for Lou. Lou was the second hired hand, a local boy, and he made sure that everyone knew it.  He was Rob's friend, upwards of thirty and fond of wild exaggeratings about women, cars and fish, in that order.   

He wondered idly where they'd be heading today. As far as Seifer knew, the location for the days' work depended on some complex kind of magic, including weather, season, family and possibly some kind of almanac, the kind of thing that only little old men who'd fished for sixty years could know. Maybe they sent you into a room somewhere, gave you your very own cableknit fisherman's sweater, took away your powers of speech and entrusted you with the Knowledge. Maybe fishermen had to go through some secret initiation rites involving ten pound halibuts and secret handshakes. Or they just were in tune with the cycles of nature.

Seifer decided he liked his first theory better, maybe because his role certainly didn't require his being in tune with the cycles of nature, which was just as well. The job mostly involved gutting and freezing the fish on board so they were ready to be packed off to market as soon as the boat touched land. Unsurprisingly it required much the same talents as his assassin's job in Marduk, a steady hand and a firm stomach. The initiation, or explanation, or training, had consisted of a demonstration that went something like: Fish. Knife. Put the Knife in the Fish. Repeat many times. It sucked, but it was a job at the end of the day, and it kept him in the flat with beer and cigarettes and as much free fish as he could eat. Seifer never could have imagined he'd ever get so sick of fish.

He idly watched the first few men come drifting to the dock in small groups. On the whole, fishermen weren't welcoming people, and Seifer's shabby clothes and slight Balamb accent marked him out too obviously as Not From Around Here. They left him alone, mostly, and mostly that suited him just fine, slotted in somewhere between local fisherman and summer tourist. So far, no one had noticed who the hell he was, and though that only confirmed his suspicion of the average guy on the street being dumber than monkey shit, it was a relief. People only saw what they expected to see, and that didn't include Knights or heroes or anything else hanging round the docks hoping to get some take-home pay.  

 Smoke drifted up towards the clouds. The smell of cigarettes almost but not quite drowned out the stench of fish guts.

Smoking was Seifer's one vice, or if you really thought about it, just one among many. He'd tried giving up once at Garden, figuring it was only going to make him weaker, but now there wasn't really anyone left to fight. The fishermen? The candy floss sellers? Himself? 

Whatever.

He doubted there'd be time for him to die of lung cancer, so he might as well enjoy it. Once Quistis got that letter, if she had, she'd no doubt send a packet of Marlboros with instructions for him to smoke himself to death. Nah. That would take too long.  Just a razor blade and a bath plug…...

Quistis.

 It was odd that he was thinking about her when it happened. Stubbing his cigarette out, bored and more than a little tired, Seifer got up from the crate (which felt like it was grating his butt) and settled for leaning against the chainlink fence separating the cannery from the docks, watching idly for the other guys from the boat.  It gave under his weight with a soft clink as he shifted, thoughts drifting, hands rammed firmly in pockets.

Instead he noticed another figure come past at a fast jog and settle to catch her breath on one of the benches by the quay, some tourist out for exercise, which made him think he really should do more of that. Since the winter he'd no doubt let things slip a bit, training in his flat, mostly, and alone. True, there had been some random monster-slaying jobs to keep him some kind of shape, and fishing wasn't exactly easy, but he still wasn't anything near Garden fit.  And damn, the chick looked good.  

 He toyed with the idea of maybe wandering down to the seats and trying to work up a conversation. Why not? Maybe she'd like what she saw, and it wasn't like he had anything else to do. 

_Hey. My name's Seifer. What's yours? I like to kill things….._

Seifer was thirty seconds out of the shadow of the building and closing in when the girl turned her head towards him, the early sunlight hitting her profile in a way that would have made one of the famous Centra artists eat his brush. 

_She looks like Quistis. Funny. But hot._

_She really, really looks like Quistis._

_That's one hell of a coincidence._

_She really, really, really looks like Quistis, either I should have told her she's got an evil twin somewhere or …sweet damn and holy Hyne what the HELL is she doing here? _

Seifer automatically drew back into the shadows of a large ornamental potted palm. The surreptitious movement startled a group of seagulls that were hanging around in hope of food, sending them flapping jerkily into the air, squawking indignantly.

Seifer swore imaginatively and flicked his cigarette butt at the nearest bird as Quistis looked up, swept a sweaty hand across her face, brushing back her hair, and scowled in his vague direction. 

The last time he'd seen that scowl, she'd been chewing out someone who she'd thought had just shot him. Which, you know, implied that she cared. However then there had been the letter, which Seifer still wasn't really sure he should have sent. But then, he'd owed her. Quistis had saved his butt more than once, and although he'd ended up returning the favour, still, without him, her butt wouldn't have been there to be saved. 

Maybe it was a trap. It wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you.

He watched Quistis covertly from the shadow of the palm as she turned her face back to the sea.. She looked better than when he'd last left her, but then she'd just been killed and resurrected while wearing a giant parka. Relaxation was obviously suiting her. She was casually dressed in a tank top and shorts, both sweaty and sticking to her in interesting ways while she sat hugging one leg to her chest and watching the boats, her face turned away from his and the sweep of her long hair hiding her expression. The pose hiked her cleavage up, pretending a voluptuous figure at odds with Quistis' usual sleek and athletic posture.    

 _So she has boobs, who'd have thought it?_

It reminded Seifer of all the times he'd watched her in class, idly, because it was better than doing boring useless work. Particularly the fantasy where she said _take me away from all this and they went on the run, swindling rich suckers and spending their nightly take in bars, before returning to their seedy hotel dive for hot mad monkey sex. He remembered feeling vaguely annoyed for having such an obvious lust object as Quistis, the smart beautiful prodigy with legs that went all the way up, the one everyone was talking about.  So damn adolescently predictable at a time when Seifer had prided himself on never doing anything like everyone else, but also, unfortunately at a time when anything male and teenage was busy thinking about sex with anything female. _

Now that he thought about it, the teenage was probably optional. Seifer mentally shook himself. He might as well join the Trepies and start sewing 'I heart Quistis Trepe' on his underwear.

Nah.  Must be the legs. And, hell, the cleavage. And the fact that he hadn't got laid in well, too damn long. 

Not that Quistis had ever been anything but easy on the eye, but then she'd had a whale-sized crush on Squall, the kind for which the word _crush was perfect, a heavy all-enveloping _thing_ that Squall had been the only person completely oblivious to, as usual. At the time he'd just resented her for paying more attention to Squall than him, and resented Squall for being so bloody blind. As well as for just breathing the same air, he guessed. No, he'd hated him, at least partly, for being there for comparisons._

_Why aren't you more like Squall?_

If Seifer had been much given to introspection, he might have said something like how Squall was the damn perfect pupil with no damn personality of his own, all _yes, of course_ all the time. Quistis had given Squall all the attention, and it slid off him like water off a duck's back

Man, had that grated.

Quistis shifted on the bench, a dark silhouette against the sunrise. Wind whipped at her hair.   

Seifer wondered if he should go down there.

_Yes_

_No._

_Maybe_.

_I'm going to have to walk past her to get to the bloody ship anyway, unless she leaves._

This mood of indecision did not sit well with him. For a man who normally considered two seconds of '_should I/shouldn't I…aaa hell just how much trouble can I get in anyway_' to get in the way of action this was an advanced course in tactics. He sighed and started out from under the spiky shadow of the palm, still not entirely happy with the decision.

The movement must have startled Quistis-she was a soldier, after all-and she turned her head with a stare like a searchlight and a expression on her pretty face that moved from mild irritation at being disturbed to tense amazement to a careful blankfaced and composed mask. Her pose did not change, and he thought that that was all Quistis, somewhere under the hair her brain was working madly away, assessing the situation, choosing options. Of course, it all left about as much outwards sign as the swans floating on the harbour: they might look serene, but underneath their feet were paddling away like mad.

 "Quistis…..It's been a while."

She stared back at him, perfect forehead creasing in an annoyed frown.

Seifer tried again. "What are you doing here?" His hands found the square outlines of his pack of Lucky Strikes in his pocket and he automatically drew a second cigarette out, cupping his hands against the breeze to light it.

"What do you mean, what am _I_ doing here? You're supposed to be dead!" Annoyed…no, 'livid' was more the word. Or maybe 'raging.' "Don't sound so disappointed."

Quistis threw up her hands, looking like she was going to pick up the bench and throw it at him. "I saw them _shoot you." Each word was carefully enunciated like sniper fire. Seifer moved back a cautious step, beginning to think that maybe he'd made a mistake  "Those bullets had your __name on it."_

"They must have spelt it wrong."

 "That letter…"

"I thought you deserved it."

"Deserved a load of guilt, you mean. Wow, _thanks." Quistis spat the last word with a kind of acidic sharpness that, by the look on her face, surprised even her. _

Seifer sat down on the bench beside her, thankful that she didn't appear to have anything junctioned. If she had, he was sure that he'd be smoking in more ways than one by now "You know, I think you've got a lot of anger inside you that you need to let out. I recommend activities involving fire and weaponry."

 "You didn't think I'd rat on you to Squall?"

The blunt question stunned Seifer for a minute. Of course, he'd considered it, but Squall hadn't really been on his mind when he'd decided to write the letter. He wasn't sure exactly how much Quistis had told the new commander about what had happened that winter. 

She gave an exasperated sigh at his surprise. "Have you killed anyone at all in the last five months?"

Seifer shot her a look, but Quistis appeared deadly serious. "Uh, no." When this didn't change the frown, he added. "Should I?" sarcastically. "Look, I just walked here. Didn't know where else to go. I haven't killed anyone. I haven't done anything _illegal_." He though about this for a second and changed it to "Mostly illegal, anyway. Apart from maybe just existing."

"So, did you go back to Marduk?" Was that relief in her voice?

Seifer took a drag and watched the embers glow in response. "Just passing through. I promised myself I'd go back one day this summer."

"So it wasn't all that bad after all?"

 "No, it'll burn better. Dry weather."

There was a long and awkward silence. Seifer stared out at the boats and thought of the past months. 

December: a long slog of monotonous walking retracing his route though the forest and wearing out yet another pair of shoes.

January:  back to civilisation, or at least Trabia. He'd kept a seriously low profile.

FebruaryMarchApril: all blurred into one long wander.

May: That had been  when some guy, more friendly or blind and less suspicious than most he'd met had told him "I don't have any work for you, but why not try this little fishing village about _so_ (gesturing) far south" Which by a direct route, led him here, wherever the fuck it was on a map.

Figures were beginning to congregate round the docks. Seifer stood, stubbing out his cigarette on the bench. It left a little streak of ash.   "Look, I have to go."

"You're not going anywhere." 

I'm not just hanging round here for my health. I have to go to work. I'll be back this evening and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Within reason. But not now."

Quistis gave him an answering stare and a furious shrug, lips tightly compressed and white, like there was too much she wanted to say to him.

He wondered if she would try to arrest him again.

_"Dave!"_

A_ shout from the docks. Seifer automatically turned to the voice, found Mike waving and absently waved back, thinking of how to tell Quistis not to worry, or at least not to actually get on a boat and start hunting him down. The fisherman beckoned in response and Seifer pretended not to see. Shit, sometimes one of the things that bothered him the most was not being able to use his real name, but he wasn't suicidal. Or at least, not yet._

Quistis raised an eyebrow. Under it her eyes looked more grey than blue, hard and flinty. "Dave?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll explain. Later. Name the time and the place."

"You're going to have lots of explaining to do." _Like why you're still alive, for starters…. _

"I'll do it. Trust me."

"I wouldn't trust you if I nailed you to the ceiling, And believe me that's starting to look like a good idea.."

Seifer cut her off, fumbling in his pockets for something to give her. His fingers brushed his house key and he fished it out like a party favour, put it on the bench between them like a truce flag. "My door key. Look, I'm going to have to come see you just to get it back tonight. I get in at seven. I'll see you at seven-thirty."

Quistis' voice could have been used to sharpen knives. "You keep saying look, but all I can see right in front of me is someone who just ran over eight hundred miles to escape capture by SeeD forces. Forgive me for being cynical." 

"You're not going to capture me." He spoke flatly, hoping it was true. "I need the money. Where 're you staying?"

Quistis drew one leg up to rest on the bench in a seemingly random move that placed her in the perfect position to jump off and grab him. "The Traveller's Rest on Main Street.  Nineteen thirty hours, on the dot, in reception. And I watch you get on the ship."

"Fine."

"_Fine."_

_"Dave!"_

"And if you try anything I'll have the police AND SeeD all over you like a cheap hooker before you get eight miles, never mind eight hundred… _Dave._" She narrowed her eyes. Seifer pretended not to notice as he turned away.

"It was more like twelve hundred, round trip" he shouted over his shoulder. Quistis muttered something as he turned away that sounded like "I need to go listen to some Enya"

Seifer could feel her eyes on his back as she watched him to the ship, up the steps and out into the harbour.  

_So.__ Quistis. Who'd have thought it? _

Thankfully Seifer was able to get through most of the day keeping his thoughts to himself and saying nothing. His brain whirred like a hamster in a cage, going round in circles and getting nowhere, hands working independently of his head as he gutted and packed and froze fish monotonously.  

He was so out of it he didn't even notice when Mike sent Lou down to help him with the last of the packing. And Lou was hard to miss. Almost as tall as Seifer at six one and twice as wide, he took up most of the deck. Smaller objects tended to gravitate towards him and Seifer thought it was as much due to his mass as to his light fingers.

"What's with the woman?"

Lou nudged him with one well-padded elbow. The movement pushed Seifer halfway down the deck, because Lou certainly didn't look like he missed any meals and was built like several wardrobes filled with lard. Seifer had tried to avoid getting into a fight with him so far, because he'd never particularly wanted to be crushed to death. You'd have to use quite a long knife actually to reach the vital organs. Rolls of fat overflowed over the man's collar, his head sunk in the middle of them like an egg in its cup. He disliked Seifer, maybe because he kept his mouth shut and worked hard for minimum wage and Mike approved of him for keeping his mouth shut and working hard for minimum wage. Mike approved of things that saved money. Maybe when the lucrative late-season fishing trips came up, Seifer would be paid for them and Lou would have to fight for places on another ship.

 Lou liked things easy. This suited Seifer fine. So did he. He flicked the tiny heart out of a mackerel and threw the still beating organ to a gull circling overhead, ignoring Lou. 

The other fisherman didn't take the hint. "You deaf?"

Seifer sighed, throwing the fish in the waiting icebox with rather more force than was necessary. "Nah." _Unfortunately, 'cause then I wouldn't have to put up with your shit._

"Got yourself a girl?"

"She's not my girl." Seifer didn't look up, picked up a second fish.

"Then who was that you were talking to down at the docks?"

"No one."

"Sure looked like someone to me." He made a suggestive gesture that implied a woman with a very strange centre of balance indeed. It certainly didn't look like Quistis, because you couldn't work out every day and still have a chest like a herd of cows.

"It wasn't." The guy was worse than a terrier. But he had balls, Seifer would have loved to hand them to him, possibly with decorative ribbon attached.  "Fuck off."

"She a tourist?" Lou liked to consider himself a ladies man, despite evidence, and he definitely sounded interested. Interested but with all the self-preservation talents of a suicidal lemming. He didn't bat an eyelid as Seifer gutted the herring pointedly right in front of him. 

"You're dribbling on the fish." His temper was wearing thin. Or thinner, at least.

"I'd like to suck on her legs for a week…"

"You'd be sucking on her fist." Seifer flipped the final fish into an icebox. "Bullshit. She'd never look at you." 

_And not just because you look like the bastard offspring of a bulldog and a whale.___

_._He thought that it was a shame Quistis was never going to meet Lou, because otherwise he would have sold tickets and sat down to enjoy the fun with popcorn. Five seconds, max. 

"That little blondie's just gagging for it, I'll bet you.."

The words made Seifer laugh. Anyone who referred to Quistis as 'the blonde' better have no need for their front teeth, or any of the others for that matter. "From _you?" The scorn stung the other man. "I'm sure she can do better than you." He stared pointedly at the scars still visible on Seifer's arms. "Just who the fuck are you anyway?"_

Lou said it in a way that made Seifer wonder just how long he'd been thinking it for.

He clenched his fist around the knife. The mesh of the cold chain-mail gloves they all had to wear for heath and safety reasons dug into his palm. 

_He can't know. _

The scar on his face was much less noticeable now, a pale shiny line instead of the vivid red slash of months ago. The strategy of 'people only see what's normal and expected' had worked in Hana so far, (and most other places, now he thought of it),  but if people were thinking like that, starting to put two and two together and at least come up with something wrong, it was time to move on.  It was okay for them just to think, the problems started when one guy said something and then everyone else was all 'oh, yeeah…..' and after that, just add flaming torches and bingo! one instant mob.

Which meant Mike would soon have to be looking for a new fisherman, as Lou had just provided him with the excuse to quit the job. A quarrel over a girl was much more obvious than a row over fake identity. And well, Quistis was never going to know.  Seifer would rather have faced a pitchfork-waving mob than Quistis when she really got going.  

Dammit. He'd needed the money. 

"Don't insult my girl. Unless you want me to rearrange your fucking face for you."

Lou sneered nastily and had just opened his mouth to reply when the knife thudded into the table neatly between two of his outspread fingers. The fisherman jerked his wrist away reflexively and wrenched his hand right out of the glove. It flopped on the table like a bad horror movie prop, pinned to the wood by the knife straight through the metal links. He opened and shut his mouth, looking much like the fish on the slab and with about as much neck, and then must have decided that Seifer wouldn't dare do any more.  "Was that a threat?"

"No, a threat'd be more" If you lay one hand on her I'll cut it off.", you lying fat bastard. And you know what? I won't have to. Because she'll do it instead." 

This time Lou had the good sense to keep his mouth shut as Seifer turned away to help unload, smiling to himself as he watched him try to pull the knife out of the decking out of the corner of his eye and hoping that Quistis never got to hear of their conversation. Unfortunately the lack of movement in his mouth didn't extend to the outlying regions. A fist the size of a ham rose threateningly. 

Seifer wondered if he'd be able to get the larger man to somehow fall overboard. He'd sink like a stone. On the negative side, he'd just let go of his only weapon, but on the positive side, he was wearing gloves that weighed a good ten pounds.

Lou spat "You think you're so clever." 

"No, I _know _it." Seifer smirked. Lou growled.

"Lou!"

The ship hit the docks with a bump. "Dave!" Mike's voice, again. 

Seifer automatically glanced round, and then turned back fast.

_Wham._

Seifer nonchalantly leaned to the side and then ducked as the fist whirred ponderously through the air to smash through the thin wood of the nearest fishbox. He resisted the temptation to kick the table into Lou's groin with an effort. There was a puzzled look on the older fisherman's face as he tugged at his wrist with his bare hand, grunting and sweating. Seifer would have sworn that the fishing boat rocked with his movements.

"What's going on here?"

Lou lowered his hand and swung round. Mike stepped back slightly, because Lou had the advantage of momentum and took some time to come to a stop. 

"Asshole just pulled a knife on me!"

That true? I've got better things to do than sort out quarrels. That fish is going to be stinking to high heaven and walking by itself if we don't get it moving off the docks right now. And I mean _now."_

Seifer shrugged. Lou nodded. The motion sent whole waves of flab rippling forwards. For a moment Seifer would have sworn that his eyebrows were invisible.

Mike sighed. "I don't keep people who pull stupid dangerous stunts."

 There was a pause. Seifer recognised it as the time where he should have been trying to explain himself, blame the other man, anything. Instead he sneered. 

"Hell, fuck you. I've got better things to do than take your shit." 

Anger was easy to fake. Maybe it wasn't even faked. These days it seemed like he was angry most of the time. 

Mike's facial expression didn't change. "Right. Help unload, and then you can take your pay and get off this ship. I don't have time for this." He turned away. "And think yourself lucky I'm paying you for today."

Seifer snarled "Fucker" at his back, fingers digging up in a fast angry gesture as he started to unload the fishboxes, ignoring Lou's grins. Bastard hadn't just eaten all the pies, he'd started on the table. He again vaguely considered trying to tip the bigger man overboard, but consoled himself with the though that he had enough blood in his hands without being responsible for the death of several million in a tidal wave.

It took about forty-five minutes to unload the rest of the catch. By the time they had all finished, Seifer was sweating. Lou looked like he was melting. It was hot and uncomfortable and it stank of fish, and suddenly Seifer wasn't unhappy to be leaving after all. He watched the back of the refrigerated van as it drove off with a mixture of relief and exhaustion and didn't comment when Mike counted out a small pile of coins into his hand and told him to get lost. Just as well. How long was it going to be before someone made a connection, saw the face or shouted his real name, and he turned around? It would only take one person to point out the obvious for all his nice free freedom to come crashing down.

And he hoped to hell it wasn't going to be Quistis.

The afternoon stretched itself gloriously as he walked down the docks, not really thinking about Quistis or Garden or anything else at all.

"Hey. You."

It was Lou's voice. The larger man was standing like a small mountain under the shade of the bow. He gave a mocking glance at the money in Seifer's hand. 

"Get what you deserve?" 

Seifer followed his eyes to Mike, who was leaning on the bow of the ship and trying hard not to be obvious at looking at them both. Just enjoying the sun, just keeping an eye on things. Seifer got the message.  

_But I think this guy might have eaten the Post-it note._

 "You did me a favour."

He grinned and left the other man to work it out, in a surprisingly good mood, considering the circumstances.

Even if you started out running, you had to stop somewhere. The body got tired. He knew better than to think that Quistis would stop chasing him, if she really was after him. Twelve hundred miles of Trabian forest bore witness.

Although he didn't really think she was after him. The surprise had been too genuine, one hundred percent twenty four carat 'what-the-hell?' Sometimes you just had to stop. Face the music and hope you liked the tune that was playing. It was sobering to realise that when you died, most people would already think you were dead or find an excuse to have a party. 

And Seifer had never really been into being sober, at least not for the last two years  It was strange to think that his current career as an evil minion/alcoholic had only lasted for the last ten percent of so of his life.  He got the feeling it was kind of like an absinthe hangover, but instead of feeling like your brain was going to fall out your ears for a couple of days you got people trying to make it fall out for you, at great speed, for a few years.

Funny, that. 

He considered changing clothes and showering before he went to meet Quistis at the hotel and then remembered that she had his key.

Oh well.  Her funeral. The Traveller's Rest was an..interesting place, from what he'd heard about the management.

It was. 

Seifer looked round as he entered the lobby. SeeD sure hadn't gone overboard on this one. The whole place had a kind of down-at heel air, which was surprising as the décor was set firmly on Country Cottage. The kind of place that made you pay an extra ten gil for a patchwork quilt and a picture made of cheese straws pinned over the mantelpiece. Cushions overflowed on the seats, patterned with fat smiling cats and bowls of flowers. The carpet looked as if it had lost whole parties of explorers in there. His feet sank into it up to the ankles. 

Quistis was seated at the receptionist's desk, her back to him. The receptionist glanced up and gave Seifer a hard look, reminding him sharply that he was currently just an out-of-work sometime mercenary, fish gutter and odd job man, a mindset which was hard to switch off.  Seifer couldn't help trying to pick out the defensive positions if the building were under attack.  He knew Quistis would probably be thinking the same right now, but she sure didn't look it.

Seifer realised that right now he probably looked like he was thinking about stealing the furniture. Sand trailed out of the bottom of his jeans.

The amount of money it was costing to stay in this place would have kept him in cigarettes for _weeks. Hotels were expensive. _

Quistis glanced up. Her body language went from Relaxed to Tense and Possibly Angry, Maybe Even Homicidal with the speed of a fighter jet.

Seifer wondered if it had been a good idea to come here after all. Personally he was surprised Quistis had waited, wouldn't have put it past her to hop on a boat and start hunting him down. 

It would have been quite a big boat, possibly one of those with the big whale-hunting harpoons mounted on the bow.

Thank you everyone that reviewed! Wow :o so many! And I had a great holiday thank you all. See pictures on his sister's lj at blackthorn.easyjournal.com.

Um, I'm not sure exactly how accurate my sorceress history bit is, but I left it in anyway for the sake of narrative. :D Also, thanks to my sis, for contributing some one-liners and spending long evenings talking about shite and character motivation this summer. Pizza never tasted so good…...

To: Breaker-one (Sarcasm NEVER hurt anyone), DBZ Fanfiction Queen (ta:D) gauntlet-challenge (Dammit! Maybe he didn't notice she was covered in coffee…..or maybe he was just too polite to mention it. Uh, yeah) Ghost 140(well I was going to spam everyone who reviewed GB to let them know I'd updated: but no time, I guess, also not sure that everyone'd be interested) Kjata (more practice I guess) Mystery Science Seed (blunt descriptions of blunt instruments) nynaeve77(ta! I used to go to a Methodist youth group when I was little. We had a lot of required fun.) Ripley (woo!I don't much like Rinoa..she's so damn girly) seventhe (my ex used to have one of those talking bird clocks in his living room) superviolinist (the html is finally dancing to my tune..soon I will rule the world!!!!!!. Uh, enjoy it while it lasts, d00d) The Finely Tuned Fiend (wow:o ta, I've spent all fsckin' summer thinking about it) and Verdanni (last but not least as always)


	3. Chapter Three Crazy Messed Up Things

Chapter Three: Crazy Messed Up Things 

I think it's getting to the point

Where I can be myself again

It's getting to the point 

Where we have almost made amends

I think it's the getting to the point

That is the hardest part…

But I'm warning you, don't ever do

Those crazy messed up things that you do

If you ever do, 

I promise you I'll be the first to crucify you

Now it's time to prove you've come back here to rebuild…

Barenaked Ladies: Call And Answer.(edit)

This is not working. Grrrr. I've uploaded this damn thing over ten times

 and it's still fucking up. Okay, make that eleven. Mofo, lets' try again.

 Sorry, for all those who read it earlier. Now I'm trying uploading it in 

Word. Things in are in italics.Ta.

This is still not working. I may soon detonate my computer. You have

 been warned..

For the last frickin' time: the title pic for this fic is at blackthorn dot 

keenspace dot com slash images dot sdtc dot jpg. Let's see you 

fuck this one up, html.

My l33t skillz aren't working.Sorry.

For all GB and SDTC related art go to blackthorn dot keenspace 

dot com and click on 'art'. And then 'fanart' Ta

.

 Five Minutes Earlier.

She'd been waiting for ages.

The receptionist leaned into Quistis conspiratorily. It was nice

 sitting in the hotel lobby, the breeze was actually cool for once

 (thank Hyne for air conditioning) and the seats were comfy, 

but the woman wasn't half a gossip. 

If it hadn't been for her, Quistis might have been enjoying herself,

 in a quiet kind of way.

Instead she sighed and lifted her heavy mass of hair off her neck,

 thinking that she should have put it up in a bun. Who, exactly, 

was she trying to impress? If she was as professional as she 

claimed she probably should have had it cut off now anyway, 

but it was her one luxury, even if it did take an age to dry.  

And in a way it could be a tactic just as devastating as a cruise

 missile. Long blond hair didn't say 'SeeD' and people who

 didn't know they were dealing with a SeeD and who didn't 

take pretty young women seriously were usually more inclined

 to let interesting bits of information slip that people confronted

 with a heavily armed strike team. And they were definitely less 

inclined to do stupid things like try and shoot their way out of a 

bad situation.   

Quistis loathed stupidity in herself but she didn't mind it in others,

 at least others who weren't on the same side as her.  It made her

 work so much easier, for one thing.

And now the damned woman was off on another tangent. So far, 

although Quistis had tried to keep some track of the conversation 

and had carefully nodded and smiled and said 'yes' at random 

intervals, just to be polite, her 'quick  word' had ended up turning

 into a half-hour monologue about the manager of the hotel and the

 way guests never tidied up after themselves and had just got onto

 the subject of the woman's three failed marriages.

Where in Hyne's name was Seifer?

She shifted uncomfortably and leaned both elbows on the desk,

 resting her chin in her hands and wondering if it would be polite

 to ask the woman if she had anything she should be getting on

 with. Maybe if she sat and nodded enough she'd run out of 

things to say or, Hyne help her, maybe do some work. Stuff 

tact, the woman obviously wouldn't know a hint if it jumped up

 and bit her.

 "And another thing, appearances can be just as important.  

I'm not just talking 'bout good looks either. You want a man

 who's clean, No one with really pale skin, they're always unhealthy. 

 And no scars. Working scars aren't bad, used to have a man who

 was a chef, but if they're not they don't come from being sweet 

and gentle, so you just as well might forget it. Don't want to get in 

with any of those soldiers. Sweet girl like you, they'll love you and

 leave you and then walk on to the next town without as much as

 a by-your leave. " 

Quistis tried not to laugh and absently tried to hide her own hands 

under the table. 

_Sweet girl.___

_Ha._

The receptionist interpreted her smothered giggle as a shocked gasp.

  "Don't let them take any..…liberties."

She considered trying to explain that anyone who tried taking anything

 of any sort from her would instead be going home with their teeth,

 in a bag, but dismissed the subject out of hand, impatiently tapping

 her fingers on the cheap laminated desk. The door was empty. It

 was seven twenty-eight. Outside, the blur of passing figures hazed

 in the heat. Quistis raised her right hand to her mouth and started

 chewing off the nails.

Damn him. Seifer had said he was going to be here. She unconsciously

 reached down to touch the key in her pocket.  

What was he doing here? 

What, for that matter, was she doing here?

Quistis thought for a moment of just walking away. She had her ID

 and money and weapons in her bag, she could just go. Walk to 

the station, or call a cab, jump on a train and leave. She'd have

 to phone Garden later, of course, to tell them where she'd gone,

 but all she'd have to say was that she'd got bored and decided

 to move someplace else.  The hotel would probably forward her

 stuff, and she was booked in under a pseudonym as it was. 

They wouldn't ask any questions.

She idly considered it for a moment.

Part of her screamed at her to leave and the rest dug in its toes 

and sulked. Both parts knew it was never going to happen. Quistis

 didn't just refuse to face a problem, she never had. You took your

 troubles with you and if you didn't look at them they just grew so

 damn big you just had to stop and do something about it. Look 

at Seifer. His had followed him through a thousand miles of forest.  

No.

Quistis changed hands and started to gnaw off her right nails, 

nervously, starting at the little finger. Halfway through she realised

 she was doing it and stopped herself with an effort.   She didn't

 have much nail to bite usually. They just got in the way.

She suppressed a flicker of resentment that Seifer hadn't stayed in

 Trabia, instead of coming back to pester her. It was like having a

 cockroach problem you simply couldn't shake. The only thing was

 she couldn't simply call up the exterminators and get them to put 

some traps down.

Se sighed. Hell, she was supposed to be one of the exterminators.

 Wasn't that what she was here for? To assess the situation, control 

damage just like always, even if this wasn't an official Garden mission.

 Especially if this wasn't an official Garden mission, because by not

 picking up the phone and calling them right now she was pretty 

much condemning herself to dealing with this skeleton in the closet all by herself 

A skeleton that had so far proved amazingly tenacious.

By rights she should be corresponding with him using a Ouija board. 

By rights she should be waiting for him with an armed response unit. 

But then when you were dealing with Seifer, issues of right and wrong

 tended to get a little confused. 

The receptionist touched her arm. Quistis carefully controlled her jump.

  One of the slight benefits of being a trained soldier was that you tended

 to keep track of where everyone around you was, plotting their points

 on a mental map using cues of sounds, air movements, flickers of vision

 out of the corners of your eyes.  In Quistis' case it was automatic.

Just like the gun in her purse.

"What's the matter, dearie? You look a little…lost."

She resisted the temptation to say "Just my mind." and smiled vaguely.

 The clock behind the receptionist's head read 7:31. Damn.

The woman tried again. "Waiting for someone?"

"Hopefully."

"A young man?"

Quistis carefully considered the description, Technically Seifer fitted

 both of those qualifications, but there was something about the phrase

 that implied, well, respectability. Especially if you added in the fact

 that while Seifer might only be twenty in actual years, in terms of

 hard-bitten cynicism he was about a hundred.

"Uh, yes."

"You bear in mind what I said, then, dearie."

Quistis nodded and smiled and filed the information away in her

 mental Big Book Of Useless Advice, right in between 'women

 cannot be good and effective soldiers ' and 'duck and cover in

 the event of a nuclear disaster.'

A flicker of movement at the door caught her eyes as she turned

 and Seifer stepped through.

Behind her she heard the receptionist sigh "Oh, dear." In truth, 

Quistis couldn't blame her. Seifer looked as if he'd just stepped

off a fishing boat, right up to the smell, but all she could think of

 was that he was cleaner since she'd last seen him. It was a pity

 about the clothes.  His jeans had holes in them. His T shirt had

 holes in it. His boots probably had holes in them, but she couldn't

 see them from where she was sitting. 

She wondered idly how many weapons he was carrying.

Apart from the clothes, he looked just the same as he always had.

 The scar was paler now, hardly visible, and he'd lost some weight 

since Garden. Still, if he'd come to the house when her step-

grandmother was living, she'd have taken one look at him and 

nodded wisely, _That one'll plow your field, empty your _

_cookie__ jar, and run off with the chickens._

But it wasn't the chickens she was worried about him running 

off with. Seifer was trouble, plain and simple. The few times he

 wasn't actively seeking it, he just turned around and there it was.

 Or at least, that was what he said on the witness statement.

You wouldn't trust him with your life, or for that matter anything you owned.

But then she had, not so long ago, and that was the problem. 

Quistis couldn't remember much about dying, but then she was

 reasonably sure that Seifer had convinced one of the soldiers to

 give her a Phoenix Down.  Against all odds, it had worked. Oh,

there had been other life-saving incidences, in the confused way 

you got when no one really knew what was going on, more 

coincidence than anything else, but they'd still been there. Right 

up until the point where one of the Galbadian soldiers had shot him 

during a botched escape attempt. 

Quistis hadn't been able to do anything about that.  In a way, it was

 nice to know that they'd failed, if only because it made her feel 

slightly less guilty.

What she had to figure out was exactly what this had meant to 

Seifer. Finding out where he'd been, what exactly he though he

 was doing and his future plans probably wouldn't be a good 

idea either, though she was smart enough to acknowledge that 

if he had World Domination on his things-to-do list, then he 

wasn't going to tell her that. 

She sat on the stool and watched him, though she thought of

 it more as surveillance.

He looked around. 

Quistis mentally catalogued the sight, changing her mental image

 to fit the picture filed in the neatly organised and colour coded 

system that was her mind.

Seifer Almasy, tall, blond, interesting scars, vaguely foxy if you

 liked them clean-cut, too damn annoying to be allowed to live,

 looking slightly confused, and coming over here.

He fetched up at her shoulder.

"Quistis."

She struggled to keep her face composed.  "Seifer."

The receptionist's gaze went from one face to the other, clearly 

sensing the tension.  If the air had had any dramatic licence, it

 might have burst into flame.

Seifer looked away first, ostensibly to flick ash from his cigarette

 onto the carpet. He leant against the desk with an air of forced

 nonchalance. "Looking good, Instructor.  Well, better than last 

time. How's the killing people for money thing going?" 

Quistis maintained the gaze, snakelike. "Ix-nay on the ercenaries-ay!"

He gave her a puzzled look. "Uh, right."

Quistis mouthed "She doesn't know about SeeD." at him

and stabbed a quick finger towards the receptionist. The 

woman looked momentarily puzzled and then held up a hand 

with a polite and confused smile as she handed her a key from

 the board behind her. Quistis took it without thinking, noting 

that she'd apparently got herself a key for the roof garden.

Nice. 

Seifer attempted to mouth, from the look of it, "then why the 

hell are you HERE?" but gave up half way through. He settled 

for a diplomatic "What now?"

Quistis shrugged and gave a sidelong glance at the receptionist,

 who was industriously polishing the desk bell at her elbow, hoping

 for some snippet of gossip, no doubt. "We should be able to 

talk up in my room."

"Why not here?" Seifer spoke loudly. The noise made the

 receptionist glance up. She gave Seifer a glare, and motioned to the 

'for the comfort and convenience of our customers YOU WILL

 NOT SMOKE' sign over the reception desk.. Seifer 

nonchalantly moved his cigarette behind his back. Quistis 

didn't blame him, the sign almost made her want to light up 

herself.  Almost.

"She's listening in. And you can smoke out of the window."

Seifer shot her an assessing look. "How do you know?"

"She isn't using Brasso to polish that bell." Quistis whispered back.

Seifer raised one eyebrow. "Right."

"Let's go." Quistis turned from the desk, Seifer trailing after her.

 He surreptitiously moved his cigarette round to the front of his 

coat, keeping it hidden, though the smoke apparently issuing

 from his hair was a dead giveaway.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Seifer turned around. Quistis was impressed how deftly he

 placed the cigarette behind his back again.

"We're going up to her room."

The receptionist raised one hand. "This is a respectable establishment"

Seifer smirked. "Really? That's good."

The lady's hands went immediately to her hips." What I mean

 is, no unmarried couples are allowed to share rooms. And

 no guests are allowed in the rooms."

"Why?"

"Because having relations before marrying is a sin in the eyes 

of Hyne."

Quistis mentally added 'And because otherwise we can charge

 extra….' to the end of the sentence. For one, she would have

 given several million gil to see the look on Seifer's face.

She heard him mutter "Going to hell" and countered with an

 indignant "No! It's not like that!"  

_But what exactly is it?_

"We're, uh, cousins." Seifer broke in.

The woman pushed up her health service glasses with one finger 

and gave both Quistis and Seifer a long, hard look, her glance 

flitting from one face to the other. Seifer's face was suspiciously 

poker-straight. Quistis felt hers settle back into the cool, familiar 

mask. Composed? She'd written the book.

 "All right. But if I hear any funny business" she shook a finger at

 them both" you go straight out. Out, do you hear me? This is a 

respectable place and we want no trouble here."

"Trouble being?"

"The lady gave her a Stare. It definitely deserved capital letters.

" Don't think I don't know what you young people get up to. 

I watch TV, you know. I've seen pictures."

" No. Wha…?" Seifer asked innocently. Quistis elbowed him in 

the ribs and put a companiable arm round his shoulders as he coughed.

"Is there something the matter with your…..relation?"

Quistis shrugged. "I think he just choked on his own wit."

 The lady reached out and took the cigarette from Seifer's hand.

 "Put that cigarette out, young man!"

Quistis watched with amazement, in the same way as a crowd

 would watch a small child walk into a lion's pen at the zoo, holding

 out a lollipop. She dug an elbow into Seifer's ribs and whispered

 in his ear. "Don't do anything. I have a gun in my purse." 

Through the choking she thought she heard a muttered "Or are you just

 pleased to .." so she elbowed him in the ribs again, harder, and smiled 

sweetly at the woman as he wheezed.

 "I'm sorry. My cousin is prone to asthma attacks." 

Also certain lapses of judgment……..and a bit of a control freak…..

He hissed "I'm not that much of a bastard! I don't go round hurting little old ladies!"

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Arson should do it."

"That's it. I'm confiscating your lighter."

"Joke, okay?" He held up his hands. Quistis checked automatically 

to make sure neither of them were holding a weapon. They were 

empty, of course. While Seifer was not so much homicidally inclined 

as completely vertical, she doubted that he'd assault a seventy-year

 –old receptionist in the lobby of her own hotel just because she'd 

asked him to put his cigarette out. 

Probably.

She gave the receptionist a second smile.

"So it's okay if I go up and show my cousin my room?."

The old lady pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger. "All right.

 But if he's not down before nine," pointing the clock. "there'll be trouble."

"Thank you so much." Quistis gave her a dazzling smile and turned 

away from the desk. Seifer muttered "Creep.", gave his smouldering 

cigarette a wistful glance and then followed her as the receptionist snatched

 the ashtray from the desk and pointedly emptied it into the bin. A muffled 

"And don't think I won't check!" floated up the corridor after 

them just as Quistis reached the stairs in front of Seifer.

 She swept up them in front of him, using her height to look down

 her nose and asked in a withering voice "Cousins?" as soon as they

 reached the relative safety of the top floor.

"Fine, I'll just go downstairs and tell her that we plan to be having lots

 of sex, shall I?" 

Quistis glared at him over the top of her glasses. "Watch my lips.  

Four words. Not.  Going. To. Happen."

 "The feeling's mutual, Trepe. If you've got a better explanation I'd like

 to hear it. And be careful. She might hear us."

It's all right if we're fighting. Families do it all the time. " She shrugged.

"From what I've seen, anyway."

"I can't believe she thought you were related to me."

"Nor can I." Quistis unlocked her door and gave a wince at the thought 

of whole families of Almasys. Anarchy was not the word. "Come in."  

The room was best described as 'frilly' though this didn't come 

anywhere near to describing the general effect of the décor. There 

were frills over the curtains. There were frills on the curtains, as well 

as on the bed and the pillows and the dressing table and the hot water

 bottle cover and every other possible surface.  The toilet roll holder

 in the en-suite bathroom looked like a shepherdess and the draught 

excluder was shaped like a lovable sausage dog.

It was very not Quistis, but then Quistis couldn't imagine what kind of

 person would ever voluntarily choose the furnishings. Whoever it was,

 she didn't ever want to meet them without the security of a straitjacket

 and a padded cell. 

Seifer, behind her, gave her a sardonic grin. "Nice room. Did Leonhart

 choose it himself?"

Quistis raised an eyebrow at the thought of Squall choosing wallpaper

 and then thanked Hyne he hadn't. She pulled open the window, 

refusing to dignify the comment with an answer, and gestured to a 

chair. "Sit."

"Instructor." Seifer sat on the bed, just to be awkward. Quistis

 thought it probably was a message, 'don't push me around…..instructor' 

It always amazed her how he could make such a usual title sound either

 sarcastic or unbelievably dodgy. This time, thank Hyne, it was the

 Special Seifer Almasy Variety of sarcasm, a statement delivered so

 acidly it was a wonder his tongue didn't shrivel up and fall off.

She held out a hand. 

"Weapons." It wasn't a question.

Seifer sighed, slid up his trouser leg and produced a knife from 

each boot. He slapped them into Quistis' waiting palms. She 

weighted them automatically and nodded in approval, tucking 

them away into a desk drawer.  "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."  His words dripped with sarcasm.

 Quistis nudged open the door to hang the 'do not disturb' sign

on the handle. Closing the door, she turned the key in the lock, 

took the key out and slipped it in her pocket. She sat down in the chair.

There was an awkward silence.

Seifer broke it, which was about par for the course. 

"So, how are they? You'd make me a happy man if you said that 

Squall's kicked over the traces, taken up with a pair of blond 

nymphomaniac twins, started doing magic mushrooms and got fired 

after Cid found him in the Quad singing 'I'm a Little Teapot" and 

wearing nothing but an angora sweater and a pair of boxers reading

 'Mercenaries Do it For Money.'" He smirked, flicking a pack of 

cigarettes and a lighter out of his jeans pocket.

 "Not all of us have your high standards." Quistis gave him a Look.

"You mean he isn't?" Seifer shot her a glance of fake innocence. 

"Guess. And if you're going to smoke in here, for Hyne's sake do

 it out the window. And don't let me stop you from jumping." Now

 she was realising why she had been so ready to smack Seifer Almasy

 in the teeth last time she'd seen him. He was sarcastic, amoral, and

 he made the place look messy.

"Quistis, you wound me." Seifer glanced out of the window and lit up. 

"I should be so lucky."

That's what I always missed about you….your biting wit and the way

 you used to bend over to mark the papers wearing those tiny, tiny shorts…"

"I don't wear shorts!"

"Skirt, whatever. You know, you're too damn literal for your own good." 

He ducked to avoid Quistis' left hand, which suddenly seemed to be on a

 trajectory for his head.

She internally sighed at the way even of the most innocent of conversations 

with Seifer seemed to turn into an argument within seconds and threw out a

 statement like a lever in a vain attempt to get their discussion back on track. 

 "You wanted to know the news." 

 "Okay, I think…" Seifer ticked the names off on his fingers. "Let's see. 

Selphie's the Garden dealer. She strips to pay the bills and lives in a trailer

 park with her white trash boyfriends. And Zell……died of hair gel poisoning.

 What? Well, it's only a matter of time…"

"Zell has a career.  Unlike some."

Well, he must be legally alive, unlike some." Seifer parroted the last words 

in a falsetto whine. "Got any idea how hard it is to get a job when you've 

got no skills except Killing People Nastily, Demanding Money With Menaces

 and Commanding Armies Of Evil? Plus, the reason you've got holes in 

your resume is because you spent your gap year Trying To Destroy The 

Known World? No? Didn't think so."

"But why here?" Quistis asked, cursing whatever gods or fate had placed

 that holiday brochure right in front of Squall's nose. 

"Well, it's the one place without capital punishment.."

She gave him a Look that could have melted plastic. 

"No, really. Estharians don't believe in it."

"How strange." Quistis' voice had barbs.  "I think they might make

 an exception for you."

"You mean you would." Seifer leaned on the sill, resting his weight

 on his elbows, and spoke over his shoulder. His cigarette moved

 with his speech and Quistis tried hard to resist the impulse to tear

 it out of his mouth. "Fuu. And Raijin. How are they?" It wasn't so

 much as a question as a demand, delivered in a flat tone of voice 

that was trying very hard not to care.

"They're fine, Seifer. Doing well."

He nodded, satisfied, and then turned back to the view and his cigarette.

There was another long silence during which Quistis tried very 

hard not to mention the word 'extradition.' There were more

 pressing questions, anyway. She chose the most obvious one, 

watching Seifer like a hawk to see how he reacted.

"You were dead. And now you are not. You better have a 

good explanation for this, Seifer."

"I wasn't." He didn't look at her, didn't seem bothered. 

"That's not a good explanation." _Since you're obviously here.___

Silence.

Quistis sighed. "Look. I had been resurrected. I'm grateful to

 you for that. But I wasn't in the most observant of moods, no

 matter how much seeing someone murdered in front of me 

seems to concentrate my attention." She moved from the chair 

to sit on the bed, tucking her legs up below her.  It creaked 

under her weight.

 Seifer turned round to look at her. "Not in front. Below."

"So?" Quistis shifted, lacing her hands round her knees.

"So you didn't see me murdered. You didn't see anyone murdered.

  You saw me fall down a hole and then someone shot something 

floating in the hole to pieces. Fuck, you know, it was easier to do." He shrugged.

"That wasn't you?"

"Do I look perforated?" He took the cigarette from his mouth and

 folded his arms.

Quistis gave him a careful, assessing look. "I think they got your clothes."

He sighed." Okay, I ran. So bite me. It just seemed like a good

 idea at the time because no one was really keeping a close eye

 on me. So they shot at me and Rahel clipped my leg and I fell 

down into this hole."

It was all beginning to make sense. "The earthquakes." After 

the monster they had been fighting had brought the house down 

in its death throes, most of the walls had fallen down and half of

 the floor had caved in.

"Right. So I'm sitting there in fucking freezing cold water watching

 the hole and then Rahel appears and I think, maybe I should get out

 the way, because this is someone who I've really pissed off."

Quistis sighed. "You have no idea." Rahel had had a whole new idea

 of having a bone to pick with Seifer. She'd meant it literally, and it 

had only been luck that she hadn't got her way. 

He winced "I know. So she thinks she's shooting at me and fires 

down the hole, and the reason why she thinks it's me is 'cause there's

 someone else down there.  Only this one's already dead. So she kills

 the poor sod again and you come and rip her a new one, and then I 

guess the transport must have come, because you all fucked of, leaving

 me, surprise surprise, in this damn wet hole. So after about two hours

 I climb out, soaking wet, find your pack, which you oh-so –conveniently

 left in the rubble what with the shooting and not dying and all, and I go to Gen's."

"Gen's. Let me get this straight. You almost get killed by a Galbadian 

SeeD and then you go to an ex-SeeD's house to clean up?"

He shrugged and took his lighter out of his pocket, turning it over and

 over in his hands without looking at it. "He helped me before.

 He wasn't nasty. I didn't drink the coffee this time. Used the stuff 

out of your pack instead"

"And then what.?"

"I came here. Well, more or less."

Quistis thought about how to phrase her question. "Didn't you ever

 consider going back to Garden?"

"I've died legally three times. Like I'm going to walk up there and 

say 'Hey, you missed, want to try again, and this time for Hyne's 

sake do it properly, you bunch of fuckwits?' Last time was a little

 closer than I like my shaves."   He clicked the lighter on and off,

 and idly ran it over the window frame. Quistis' nose caught the 

smell of burning plastic. "That's the good thing about being dead,

 no one expects you to do anything."

" Says the man whose response to a rumor of a bungled hostage 

situation is to break out of school, get a train to the offending area 

and take the president hostage at gunpoint on national television. 

 No one expected you to do anything in the first place..and for

 Hyne's sake stop that!"  

Seifer looked up, innocently. "What?"

"The burning! Stop with the burning!" She jumped up, sighing 

theatrically as Seifer clicked the lighter off. Quistis went to the 

bathroom and fetched a can of Haze in pointed silence. The 

scent didn't so much mask the smell of burning plastic as blend

 it into a new and unusual cocktail of odours so thick you could

 taste it in the back of your mouth. 

"Shit, Quistis, that stuff stinks worse that the smell…"

She didn't answer. Quistis would not have been surprised to know

 that most people though of her as unbelievably tense. She'd learned

 that the secret was to focus it.  

Like a spring, you had to have all that energy wound up and in the

 process it became so tightly controlled it would explode with great

 force whatever way you pointed it. It was why she was such a 

valuable soldier. Seifer, on the other hand, was a bag of dynamite

 in a barrel full of nails.  Bored, angry and with a complete lack of 

morals, a dangerous combination. The burning plastic thing was 

only one example. If he got bored, he didn't even seem to notice

 he was doing stuff that other people might find objectional, dangerous,

 or outright wrong, though he was usually both more dramatic 

and focused in his behaviour

She watched as he cast about for another subject and stepped

 on a conversational landmine. 

"Well, what are you doing here? Did Squall send you to come

 get me?"

Quistis heard the unspoken words: _because you do everything Squall says._

With enviable self-control she replaced the aerosol carefully in

 the bathroom, aligning it next to the colour co-ordinated 

handtowels.  "It's not all about you, Seifer." _Thank Hyne._

He grinned around the cigarette. "Of course it's all about me.

 Only other people sometimes get in the way."

"I'm. On.  Holiday." Ice dripped from her words. 

Seifer laughed. "No, really."

"Really." This time, it could have congealed in her footprints

 as she made her way across the carpet and settled down on 

the bed. Seifer didn't seem to notice.

"That's a scary, scary thought." He shot her a glance." I bet 

Squall made you. He did, didn't he?"

"Might have." Quistis' tone of voice was noncommittal as she 

tried hard not to look guilty, surprised or both at once.  Since

 when had she become so easy to read?

Seifer sighed. "I hate my life. What a damn coincidence."  

The words floated over his shoulder wreathed in blue smoke.

 It made Quistis cough.  She waved a hand in front of her face, 

willing the wind to change. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

"So what do we do now?" Seifer looked right at her and shrugged, 

in a defiant way that meant he really didn't expect her to answer the

 question and indicated that he wouldn't take her advice anyway. So there. 

"I don't give a damn what you're doing, Me, I'm trying to enjoy 

what's left of my holiday and then going back to work."

"What hoops have they got you jumping over this time?"

"Same old. Needless to say I didn't bring you back to Garden, 

so I'm still not instructor." She gave him a dangerous glance, 

daring him to comment. "Just teaching students, a few missions, bit of publicity. You?"

"Working" he winced. "Well, I was. Until this afternoon." 

"You didn't get fired?" Quistis knew the answer even before

 the words left her lips, and it didn't surprise her one bit. 

"Someone's face got in the way of my fist." Unrepentant.

 She thought of Seifer's files, and then wisely decided not to

 bring the subject up.

"What are your plans?"

"Dunno.  Never thought I'd live long enough to have a future." 

He glanced vaguely down at the cigarette in his hand. "Guess I should stop smoking. Or take up macramé. Or maybe necromancy, so next time I die I can make sure to tell you right away."

"Just try it. No, wait, maybe that IS a good idea. Because then

 I can arrange to be out." Quistis got up to search though the piles

 of papers and junkmail on her table.  Originally it had been the 

dressing table, and she'd resisted the temptation to rip the frills

 off the legs. All the ornaments had been squirreled away in a

 drawer and replaced by neat stacks of papers. Pile one was for

 dailies, pile two for reading matter and pile three for flyers and 

promotional materials advertising the various diversions to be 

found in a busy little seaside town, of which Quistis had so far 

experienced precious little. So far the only paid entertainment she

 had embarked on was half a hour letting off some of her tension 

at the local rifle range-paintball-and clay pigeon shooting park.  

And even that had gotten her a few funny looks, possibly because

customers weren't supposed to take their own weapons.  

Looking at made her wonder if she really was work-obsessed.  Hyne,

 she was getting desk withdrawal.  

She tossed him a paper off the top of the pile. "Here.  Look for a job,

maybe"

He muttered something about "organising to death" but picked it up

anyway and started to leaf through the pages. Quistis read it upside 

down, over his shoulder. There weren't a lot of jobs, and most of

what there were seemed to require skills that Seifer, or Quistis for 

that matter, didn't have.  That was the problem with a military 

academy, it taught you how to be the best at what you did, and then 

ensured that you couldn't use the skills it taught anywhere except in

 its organisation, or at least not legally.  

"Leavelle's Bodyguard Academy-Sponsored by Raybans?"

"I'm not risking my ass for some politician" He said the last word

like others would say 'mass-murderer' "Plus, those things have 

background checks."

"You've got previous experience." She didn't even know why she

 was bothering.

"At the other end of the gun." Seifer shrugged. "Look it's no big deal.

 My rent's cheap, I don't eat a lot, and I've got some savings. 

I'll manage." His unspoken words hovered in the air. _I'm Seifer_

_ Almasy, and I don't need anybody's help. Especially not yours……_

Quistis thought that his food bill couldn't be that low, especially

 given Seifer's habit of living on nicotine and Jack Daniels.  

That stuff came expensive in fact it cost more than proper food. 

"You can't eat pride." The words came out more condescendingly

 than she'd intended and Quistis flushed, realising it was the worst

way to handle this almost as soon as she'd said it. Seifer hated pity. 

"I can. Look. After. Myself." His tone of voice said clearly which

 part of this do you not understand?

She sighed and wondered why she was even bothering. How the 

hell could he still sound so arrogant, being what and where he was?

 "Ever heard of the saying 'the meek shall inherit the earth?'"

"I don't trust the meek. They may look quiet, but they can turn nasty."

"You don't trust anyone." This was true.  Seifer wouldn't have 

trusted someone who said it was raining outside until he'd stuck 

his hand out of the window first. A survival trait, she guessed. 

Even when the big one hit, he would still be walking around with the cockroaches. 

"I don't trust you."

The last word rang in the air. Against a background of hoovering 

and birdsong, it seemed out of place, and entirely too dramatic.  

Quistis was almost certain that it was a lie. Exhibit A being that he 

was here, and Exhibit B being the whole 'saving your life' thing.

Seifer looked up from the window and stubbed out his cigarette on 

the still smoking frame.  "Look, I'll be going.  There's some greasy 

fast food out there somewhere with my name on it.  If anybody needs 

me, well, they can fuck right off." He gave her a challenging look that said

 just try and stop me. 

Quistis sat carefully on the bed and didn't say a word, although she felt 

slightly smug inside. The key burned cold in her pocket and she shifted

 so the outline was invisible even through her skirt.  

Seifer stalked to the door, turned the handle, looked puzzled and tried again.

 "It's locked." He rattled it, loudly and then booted it, hard.  But that 

was the great thing about little olde-worlde inns - they tended to have

 nice thick antique doors.  This one had nails in and looked like it would

 have held a charging elephant. 

Quistis smiled, faintly. "Is it?" She watched his eyes flick towards the

 window and then back to her.

You know damn well it is.  Just what kind of game are you playing anyway?

 Is this the bit where ten SeeDs jump out the wardrobe and arrest me?" 

Seifer's body language had changed, not wary, exactly, but definitely anxious and certainly angry.

"Seifer, if I wanted to arrest you, believe me you would be one arrested

 asshole by now.  I don't want you!  No one wants you!"

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem_." Apart from you._

 Seifer ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up wildly. From 

the looks of things he'd calmed down a bit, mentally changing gears 

from 'shit, maybe they are out to get me!' to 'no worries, it's just 

Quistis being weird again.' "Denial.  I knew it."

"I am not in denial!" Quistis just realised what she'd said and fisted

 her hands in the sheets, waiting for the obvious comeback, Seifer 

never being one to throw back a conversational bone. Trying to 

have an argument with him was like having an ass-kicking contest 

with a centipede.  Given that most of their conversations seemed 

to turn into arguments, this was unfortunate. 

"That's what they all say."

"I don't have anything to be in denial of!" Nothing I can remember, 

anyway…

"So what you're saying is that you're denying the fact you're in denial.

  What are you doing here?" Seifer moved away from the door. 

Quistis noticed him slide a glance at it, note that the previous steel

-toecapped kicking hadn't even left a mark, and give up.  He folded his arms.

"Well, I could sponge paint.  If I had some paint.  And a sponge." 

She thought the room could do with some decorating. It was like 

living in a mad gingham fetishist's boudoir.  

"The sarcasm's my job.  Just for one minute will you tell me what

 the fuck is going on?"

Quistis sighed.  The fact that he was demanding explanations of her

 snapped the last few thin threads of her temper.  "Nothing.  Is.  

Going.  On. I am on holiday.  I didn't know you were going to be here, 

and right now I am tearing my hair out wondering what the hell to do with 

you and why exactly this is my problem! I didn't even know you were alive

until last week! I almost gave Squall the letter and let him sort it out 

because I didn't want to deal with this!   I was supposed to be relaxing

 and now you're here and you're making everything complicated again!

 It could be another international incident and if Edea knows about it she

 might try persuading Squall or Cid to let you back and then if all the 

Gardens get on our tails we could lose everything."

"How is she?" Seifer threw a bridge across the verbal current. He gave

 her a sideways look, like he was expecting her to burst into flames or 

something, which made Quistis realised that her face was probably bright

 red. She moved a hand up to her hair, patting a few errant strands into 

place and trying to regain control.

"What do you expect?  She's confused and upset and I know she keeps

 having these dreams and it's tearing her apart.   We just don't mention it,

 because how can we ask if she took us trying to kill her seriously? 

 Everyone's very nice to her but for different reasons. Garden's handling

 her with kid gloves because we're afraid she might break but the rest 

of the country's treating her like she might explode even though they know

 damn well what happened. Like you care, anyway. "

"Just because I don't know doesn't mean I don't care." Seifer looked 

thoughtful, as if something she'd said had struck a chord and he'd filed it

 away for further consideration.

 Quistis spoke flatly. "Prove it." She knew he couldn't knew she was

 being bitchy, but then Seifer hadn't had to cope with a worried and 

hovering Cid, a depressed Edea and a Squall who was desperately

 struggling to learn the ropes that had been put in his hands far too soon. 

Seifer shrugged. "I can't. Can't go back.  Can't do fucking anything.

  Can't use my real name, can't talk to anyone about anything that matters,

 can't stay in one place unless people start to get smart.  Quistis, 

I can't even trust myself around normal people.  I'm not normal.  

None of us are, for fuck's sake.  It's just little things like not wanting

 to be in crowds, because it's too easy not to notice things. Seeing

 some guy on the street with Zell's stupid hairstyle and thinking it's

 him and wondering what the hell to do."

Quistis interrupted in surprise. "There's more than one person that

 would do that to their hair voluntarily?"

"You'd think. I've even seen people walking round with Squall's

 pimp jacket. You're all fucking heroes now. I'm surprised they

 haven't got you on lunchboxes."

Quistis decided not to mention the school visits. "Not being able

 to slice things into little pieces must be a real pain in the ass for you." 

"You have nooooo idea." He lit up another cigarette, chainsmoking

 with a vengeance.

"You need therapy.  Possibly at gunpoint." 

Quistis got the feeling they'd both surprised each other. Things that

 needed to be said, and the only reason they hadn't was because

 last time they'd both met they'd been too busy avoiding random

 peril together. She pointed to the window through the haze of 

rapidly gathering cigarette smoke and Seifer took the hint. 

Quietly, for once. 

Maybe the smoking was just something to do with his hands, 

she'd never noticed Seifer smoke in the wars. He'd been far too

 together for that.  Maybe it was some kind of deep seated insight

 into his personality, and she wasn't about to go wading in that 

particular swamp without a big stick and several cans of bug repellent.

Quistis sighed. It felt like they'd been wandering round in verbal circles

 the whole time. She still hadn't worked out what exactly she thought she 

should do, let alone what Seifer should do, even if he was in a mood

 to take advice, which would be a minor miracle.

It was nearly nine-o-clock. The light glancing into the room had 

changed from bright yellow to a warm and sultry amber while they

 had been talking, sounds carrying in from the street becoming more

 muted and overlaid by the constant humming presence of some kind of insect. 

She sighed. "Look. I'll meet you tomorrow." adding and holding up

 a hand to stop him interrupting "so we can talk, okay.  Somewhere a bit more private."

  I think I need a coffee.

Seifer shrugged. "This is private."

"No, it's not. Because it's nearly nine, and sooner or later 

someone's going to come wandering up listening for strange sounds

 through the keyhole. Remember? If that woman doesn't see you 

walk out of that door at nine she's coming up here to shake you out

 of my sheets and charge us double.   And that is NOT an offer."

Seifer flicked the cigarette out of the window. "Unlock the door, then.

 I'll meet you outside at nine thirty tomorrow." He looked at her challengingly. 

Quistis refused to rise to his bait. They didn't have time to get into a

 second argument, and she refused to have the receptionist asking her

 searching questions every time she came in and finding excuses to 

come up and check the linen closets after hours. "That should be fine."

"Okay."

"Right." She took the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door,

 throwing it open. Seifer flicked the 'Do Not Disturb' sign off onto the

 carpet as he passed, brushing past the receptionist on her way up the

 stairs and disappearing down the hallway. The woman looked slightly

 disappointed: maybe she'd been on the point of demanding they book

 another room, or at least a double.

Quistis gave the woman a cheerful smile and retreated into her room,

locking the door.  She climbed out onto the balcony to check that 

Seifer was really leaving.  

He was.  

Just to make sure Quistis watched him across the street, down another

 road and off into the busy junctions to the west of the town. He wasn't

 hard to trace through the crowds. Seifer had never been much good at

 blending in, even when he was trying.

She wondered how he had survived as long as he had and concluded

 that it was probably a combination of luck, a well honed survival instinct 

and being very good at what he did.

Halfway there she saw him turn back and throw a glance up to the 

balcony but she was wearing dark clothes and the sun was setting. 

She was too far away to see the expression on his face, but she was

 pretty sure he hadn't noticed her.

The embers of his discarded cigarette glowed in the dark on the bare

 boards of the balcony floor. It made the night air stink harshly of nicotine

 so she scooped it up and threw it onto the gravel of the driveway below,

 watching its smouldering red eye wink out a second later and exorcising 

the ghost of Seifer's smoke. She recognised the brand. Lucky Strikes. He

 hadn't changed.

Quistis realised she was holding her breath, stretched her arms above

 her head and forced herself to exhale. The heat made her hair hang

 limply round her face so she twisted it up into a messy bun, sweeping

 sweaty strands off the back of her neck as she leant her elbows on 

the balcony rail and then rested her face in her hands.

Typical.

Quistis died from boredom, while Seifer stressed because he lived in

 interesting times. And then she had to sort it all out.

Poor Quistis, her mind whispered sardonically. 

She exhaled in disgust at herself and climbed back inside, leaving the 

night to itself and setting the coffee percolator on to boil.  

By the time it had finished, her options had boiled down to a plan of

three parts.

One; call Garden.

Two: take Seifer back herself.  If he refused to go back, kill him.

Three: wait, and see what happened.

She was reluctant to implement her first idea, at least until she talked 

to Seifer a bit more. It would look like she couldn't cope. Quistis 

mentally drew a red line across it in the binder of her mind. Scratch plan one. 

The second : well, she could. But she'd tried search-and-retrieve before,

 and it hadn't worked, plus it all hinged on Seifer being amenable. Oh, it

 was true, she could trick him or enlist the local police force or something.

 And if the worst came to it, there was always a quick bullet in the night 

and a shallow grave because legally, of course, Seifer was already dead.

 Quistis didn't think anyone would mind too much if she deleted the

 'already' permanently. 

Apart from her. 

Maybe she'd be better off trying to see if she could talk him into going back

 voluntarily. _Or taking piglets to flying school…_

This line of thought led inexorably to her third plan. Wait, and see what

 happened. Maybe it would be best to leave well alone, to wash her 

hands of Seifer and the wars and go onto whatever challenge the new

 order offered. 

Quistis instinctively distrusted Plan Three, maybe because it was too 

much like Seifer's own planning. There was no logic, no organised ten-

step table, no tactics. Seifer had been her problem for years. There was

 no way he was going to stop now.   

She sighed for a moment, remembered the coffee and went to get 

herself a mug. Triple espresso, the rye whisky of caffeine addicts.

Why did she always have to deal like this?

It was a childish thought.  Quistis had long ago worked out that in the

 game of life, you just had to play whatever cards you got.  It was

 good to be hard on yourself, because then no one could criticise 

you worse than you already did. You knew what to expect. If you 

knew what to except, you could plan ahead. But at times like this one

 of Irvine's hokey old Galbadian sayings always came to mind.  

Hyne pisses on you every day, but she only drowns you once. 

Quistis felt she was up to her neck and sinking fast.

She'd always tried to do things just as well as she could and then 

just did them better than anything else. Everyone demanded perfection,

 and eventually so did she. It was her driving force, her own personal

 quest for the Holy Grail of efficiency. If something was difficult,

 it just meant you had to try harder.

If something's not hard to do, it's not worth doing. 

The difference between Quistis and Seifer was that Quistis was driven, 

but she used the company car. Seifer's personal driver was a drunk

 fourteen year old with a body in the boot but no licence. Unpredictable,

 and therefore, dangerous.

She poured herself another coffee, staring at her reflection in the

 black bitter water.

Like it or not, she was meeting the man tomorrow, so she was

 just going to have to work out what to do. The only problem was

 that the coffee, instead of having its normal property of making her

 super-focused, seemed to have scrambled her brains. She couldn't

 think. It was a rare sensation, and she didn't like it much.

Eventually she got out her laptop and booted it up, hoping that putting

 her plans on paper would help, but after twenty minutes the screen 

stayed resolutely blank.

Aargh. 

A glance out the window showed that it was now completely dark.

He's killed my brain cells.

Quistis rested her head in her hands and tried to think. She

 remembered the way Seifer had acted in Trabia. He'd

 been everything she'd expected at first, rude, arrogant and

 violent, but several near-death experiences had, she thought, 

brought them closer together, if only because it was easier to 

shout a cutting comment back.

How would that affect the way he behaved now? 

Quistis remembered seeing Seifer for the first time after the wars, 

outside Gen's cabin in the snow, terminally pissed off and almost 

as confused, remembered him facing down monsters at gunpoint, 

remembered him snarling at the soldiers like a protective watchdog 

after he'd convinced the Galbadian SeeD Isak to bring her back to

 life using a spare Phoenix Down.

She remembered.

_Seifer remembers._

To the best of Quistis' knowledge, Seifer had never used a 

GF, which theoretically meant that he should be able to remember 

them all growing up together and which maybe had contributed to

 him following Edea in the first place. Whenever she'd got onto the

 subject of their childhood, in the woods, he'd shied off, and she 

was aware that he had more than one particular skeleton in that 

personal closet.

If she stayed, and talked to him, and thought what to do next, maybe

 she could get him to tell her about them all, together.

It was an intoxicating thought. Quistis' micro-managed mind had 

never dealt well with the gaping hole that GF use had eroded. Every

 so often she'd get tantalising snatches of memory, a song, or a saying,

 or a sudden intuitive feeling that left her walking round for a day feeling 

supremely irritated and screaming internally with frustration. Maybe Seifer 

could help fill in the blank spaces in the form that was her brain.

If he wanted to. 

Quistis had considered talking to Edea more about their childhood, but

to begin with she hadn't remembered, and then there had been more

 important things, and then; well, Edea's past decisions had borne 

strange fruit and not all of it was easy to swallow. Their former Matron

 had moved to a house near the old orphanage shortly after the wars. 

Quistis had been to see her several times. On the surface, she was coping

 well, but it was like walking out onto the beach the night after a flood 

when water had eroded the sand underneath, leaving just a thin crust

 on top. Take one step too far and then suddenly you'd be up to your

 ankles in sand and seawater. All was not well. Edea hadn't talked

 much about the situation; in fact it had been her skirting around the

 topic that had first alerted Quistis to the fact that something might be

 wrong. She suspected part of the problem was having nothing to do

 but sit and think. 

She knew Edea had strange dreams, flashbacks; Quistis had been 

standing right next to her in the kitchen one weekend when she'd 

stopped motionless and staring into space in front of the window, 

drying the dishes. The plate had smashed on the floor. It had been 

willow pattern. Edea had insisted nothing had been wrong but Quistis

 had heard her crying later. 

Always trying to protect her children.

Something had broken, and it wasn't just the plate.

Maybe there was some way she could smuggle Seifer out to Edea

Maybe he'd just make things worse. Seifer had an unerring talent for

 that. Look what he'd made her holiday into.

Quistis tried to marshal her thoughts together. She'd speak to Seifer 

the next day, assuming he turned up, try and get him to tell her about 

memories, and figure out what exactly he was doing here.  Maybe along the way she'd be able to decide what she would have to do.

_Hyne, I hope this works._

Wow:o Thanks so much everyone who reviewed. Jeez, you guys 

must really like this. And there's not even any sex yet. Um, if I missed

 anyone off then it's cos my ff.net account is screwing up and I didn't know 

I got half of the reviews until I read them on the site. Sorry*offers them one

 of Mitsuki's muffins* hope you don't mind sharing, d00ds. 

Anyway:

Auronzlah (Thanks very much. Spiffy is a good word., very English), 

breaker-one (He is protesting he is not funny. I'm glad that you think so.)

, Chanel (you mean like virtual prozac?), DBZ Fanfiction Queen (Thanks. 

Two week updates, promise), gauntlet challenge (Nice metaphor.  Simile. 

Whatever), Ghost 140 (I hate spammers. Maybe when I start the third fic,

 I'll let you know :D) Jindy Wahr (hey, wanna beta's job?. d00d, I did that

once.  You have super eagle eyes! The formatting was maybe a bit dodgy 

as my mother was staying for the weekend, and I'm still in denial 'bout the 

whole fanfic thing. I haven't got any English qualification, I just read 

compulsively), Kjata (yes, fish hearts really do beat after the fish is dead.

 Froody. Writing professionally; maybe in twenty years or so I'll be 

able to write something worth reading. Am thinking about Hellsing fic

 at the moment as sideline: trip to Rome has got me thinking.  Anderson rocks. 

In a mad kind of way.), nynaeve77 (she's pissed off, he's just pissed),

 Mana Angel (glad you've come out of the reviewing closet (so to speak) 

the link should now* crosses fingers* be working.) (Mitsuki Hoshiko 

(Ta! Am trying to get a Poe CD at the mo! thanks for the muffins*munch*), 

Quistis88 (ta!), Rendezvous (woh: CelesteSpring, hey. Whyja change

 ya name? Must go check fics….), seatbelts (hey guys :D the months, 

though, wtf? It's gonna be another long ride, I'm afraid.), superviolinist

 (Thanks. No, it's not sad.  Hey, I spend large amounts of time thinking

 about this thing.) The Finely Tuned Fiend ( ta, fellow Brit) and Verdanni

 ( no, it's a cool name. Where's it from?)

kate (now let us kung fu fight!)


	4. Chapter Four: Some Of them Fell Into Hea...

Chapter Four: Some of them fell into heaven (and some of them fell into hell.)

We watched our friends grow up together

And we saw them as we fell

Some of them fell into heaven

Some of them fell into hell.

I sang you all my sorrows 

You told me all your joys

Whatever happened to that old song?

To all those little girls and boys?

The Pogues:Rainy Night In Soho. 

Quistis woke up, uncharacteristically, at ten past nine. 

She groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, noting the half empty cup of coffee on the desk, the grey glowing screen of her laptop and the stacks of paper slewed madly over the floor, filled with mostly illegible writing in various rainbow colours of highlighters.

A thought chewed at the corner of her mind. Quistis mentally slapped it down and told her brain it would just have to wait till she was more awake. First things first, after all.  

She flicked on the bedside coffee maker.

Five minutes later, system fully re-caffeinated, she sat up in the sheets and reached for the nearest sheet of paper.

The lemon yellow writing stood out quite clearly.

Meet Seifer: nine thirty a.m. Lobby.

Damn.

Why hadn't she put the alarm on? She was always up at six thirty, whatever the weather, had been for years. She could hear the noise of traffic from the open window; the curtains billowing in the ever present wind.  She hadn't even shut the screen door last night. What had she been thinking? 

She hadn't.

Quistis jumped out of bed, shedding pyjamas on her way to the shower. What time had she got to bed last night? She remembered Seifer leaving at nine, but she guessed she'd somehow forgotten to check the clock before she went to sleep. She could have fallen asleep at any time, and certainly her eyes felt gritty and hot.  

The shower, in contrast, was not.

Quistis hissed several words that most of her students would have been surprised to know she even knew. She desperately switched the tap off, pushing her soaking hair out of her eyes with one hand and reaching for the shower curtain with the other.

There was a laminated sign stuck to the tiles of the bathroom wall. It read, underneath the condensation:

Hot water only available between the hours of seven and nine am and five and twelve pm by order of the management. This is a water conservation area.  

Sigh.

In the end, Quistis showered by standing outside the cubicle and sticking her head under the jet. It was so cold it made her head hurt. She could practically feel her hair follicles screaming in pain and closing up. Rinoa had once told her that she rinsed her hair in cold water to make it 'shinier'. Quistis decided that Rinoa was dumber than she'd thought. And that was, well, quite dumb.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a tank top and headed for the door, hair dripping.

Halfway through the door she had to return for her glasses. The time was nine twenty five when she made it to the lobby.

It was empty.

Quistis breathed a sigh of relief.  There were some people whose role in life was to wake other people up early in the morning and shout at them in loud voices, terrorizing everyone who was not one hundred per cent wide awake.    Quistis was not one of those people, but she had decided, very early on, that turning up before everyone else with no visible sign of effort gave you a certain advantage over those whose role in life was to run round like headless Chocobos first thing in the morning. 

And right now, she reckoned she could do with every advantage she could get because Seifer was exceedingly good at running a mile with every inch you gave him. He had never been one of the students hurrying frantically round first thing in the morning, either. He'd been one of the people that turned up twenty minutes late with no excuse, no books and no apology, turning his lateness into an act of defiance with a smirk that seemed to say whatever they were doing was a waste of his time.  Despite this he'd somehow managed to be early for every single weapons practice. 

Quistis had once taken him a corner and told him that it might be a good idea if he put into motion every morning what he managed apparently without effort on weapons practice days. Seifer had just shrugged and pointed out that it might be a good idea if she stopped bugging him and shut the hell up. Quistis had wiped the floor with him, but that hadn't stopped the other students from exchanging smiles. Seifer undermined her authority with a single minded determination and as efficiently as a dozen pit ponies.

He had, at least.

Apart from now, he didn't have any authority whatsoever, which Quistis was aware might have put her in a great position if Seifer had shown any sign whatsoever of respecting authority rather than interpreting it as one big neon light saying 'TARGET.'   

She sighed and surreptitiously tried to wring out her hair, which was dripping on her glasses. This was not the calmly casual illustration of professionalism she had wished to present.  The clothes made her feel uncomfortable, and the backpack she carried to camouflage her weapons was heavy, awkward and damn hard to use, though Quistis found that if she thought of the clothes as camouflage some of the awkwardness went away. She would have felt more comfortable in full SeeD uniform; even with the knee socks, or in full combative camouflage gear: face paint, the works. The waterproof shirt would have stopped her hair from dripping down her back, at least. 

Nine thirty five. 

Quistis sighed and crossed the lobby, looking up and down the street outside. 

There was no sign of Seifer, but there were a hell of a lot of tourists. She drew back as a small child carrying a rubber ring nearly crashed into her.

There were people everywhere.

Quistis' gaze played automatically over them, noting anything that stuck out.  The woman in the corner looked like she was carrying something under her clothes: probably a safety wallet for valuables but in a different situation it might have well been a bomb.   

She shook her head.

She just couldn't let go, could she? It was hard to take in the idea that none of the people in the crowd was guilty of anything, or at least not the kind of things Garden got paid to bother about.  None of them were wearing uniforms, except the kind of Bermuda-shorts-flip-flops-and-surf-shack-T-shirt ensemble that she hoped to Hyne they would have been too embarrassed to wear at home.

Seifer stuck out like a sore thumb when he turned the corner. Quistis thought he looked like the poster boy for a 'When Good Kids Go Bad' TV special; the all-Balamb quarterback turned alcoholic.  He was definitely thinner, although you could have fitted a conjoined twin or three under the sheepskin coat he had been wearing in Trabia.

Seifer gave her a sardonic wave and settled back against the wall of the hotel, scowling against the sun. He shot her a mocking sidelong glance. "Wet look gel, Instructor? You didn't sleep in, did you?"

"I.  Don't.  Sleep. In." Usually. It's not really a lie….

"Oh, look." He pointed, shading his eyes against the sun.

Quistis sighed. "What?" The sun was drying her hair, but it was going to turn out all frizzy. It would be nice if that had been the least of her problems.

 Seifer lowered his hand from his eyes and smirked down at her. "I think I see a flying pig."

The words unleashed Quistis' inner bitch, which she rarely bothered to put on a lead anyway. "Because you were so early."

"I've been up for hours."

"Like hell."

"Really."

"Right." Quistis consciously stopped the line of conversation before it degenerated further. There was a short and awkward silence. They both stared out into the crowd, a small island of quiet in the noisy bustling street.

 Seifer gave Quistis an assessing look. "It makes you nervous, doesn't it." He tucked one hand behind his head, lounging against the wall with his feet in the geraniums. "Me, too."

Quistis realised that she was standing rigidly against the wall, pressing her back against it like it was the only thing between her and a raging army.  There were just too many people. The crowd swirled round them both like a river in full flood. She didn't feel nervous, not exactly, more like wary- as if she was trying to develop eyes all over her skin. 

"We should go somewhere else if we want to talk." She blew a stray wisp of drying hair away from her face and gripped her bag more securely. Hyne, it was hot. Her hair was almost completely dry from her shower and even standing in the blue shade she could still feel the sun's heat.  Sweat began to trickle down between her shoulderblades and she pressed her back further into the wall in an attempt to alleviate the itch.   

"Somewhere quiet." Seifer said meditatively. "Look, I think I know somewhere. It's a bit of a hike but there really won't be many people there."

Quistis glared at him suspiciously. "A bar?"

He scowled. "Quistis. It's nine forty five. I'm not that much of a piss artist.  Yet. Anyway, what I'm saying is, do you know anyplace that's going to be better?"

Quistis didn't feel like admitting that she hadn't really been round much of Hana. "I'm supposed to be having fun. I haven't had time to go exploring"

"What, don't they have a museum of Filing Systems Through The Ages to keep you occupied?" 

Quistis didn't dignify the statement with an answer.

Seifer needled her anyway. "Admit, it, you're just as much as a battle slut as anybody else in that place. What have you been doing, anyway? Sticking a Post-it note to your headboard every night before you fall asleep 'Enjoy Self. 9-5'.?"

She shrugged. "Went walking, went running. Sunbathed." She scowled. "I don't think there's much to do."

Quistis had long ago worked out that a golden tan was something that happened to other people and resigned herself to the 'pale and interesting' look which was at least an improvement on the 'boiled lobster' look. Plus, it had proved handy in boosting her ice-queen reputation. Seifer, of course, was tanned pretty much everywhere she could see.  

"Quistis, fun does not have a schedule. You just have to make it up as you go along."

"You're not here to have fun. I'm not here to have fun." Her glasses were steaming up. Hyne, it was like being stuffed fully clothed into a wet sock. People enjoyed this?

Lived in this? Voluntarily?

Seifer looked puzzled. "I thought Leonhart sent you here on holiday?"

"That was then. This is now. Now I have to figure out what to do with you." The last word was accompanied by a sweeping glance that implied (she hoped) that uses were limited. 

"I can figure it out myself."

"Chance would be a fine thing." 

He sighed. "What you really want to ask is if I have 'World Domination' right after 'Buy Milk' on my things to do list. The answer is no.  I'm just doing what everyone else is. Normal things. And normal places like this maybe aren't the best place to have a conversation like this. Let's get going. "

He peeled himself off the wall. Quistis noted that although he was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, Seifer didn't appear to be sweating. In contrast, her ice was definitely melting. She could feel dampness in the roots of her hair, and it wasn't shower water, but sweat. The heat hit her like a hammer as she stepped out from the shade.

"Where to?"

He pointed up into the hills wordlessly.

"Is it far?"

"A way." Seifer shrugged.

"Define 'a way.'" Quistis snapped. The heat must have been making her irritable. Or maybe it was just him.

"Six, seven K. What's the matter, all those thoughts weighing you down?"

"At least I have thoughts." She reached up and smacked Seifer on the head. He threw a mock-punch at her, some of the tension beginning to evaporate as they both forgot why they were there for a second. Then Quistis sighed and shouldered her pack. Seifer stared at her unreadably for a moment and then set off, in front. Quistis had long legs, but she had to hurry to keep up, fixing her gaze on his back like a limpet mine as he shouldered through the civilians.

They walked in silence as the crowds thinned out and the streets narrowed towards the edge of the town. It was very hot. Quistis squirmed uncomfortably, wishing for the cooler Balamb climate. A triangle of sweat had appeared on Seifer's T shirt between his shoulderblades and she noticed that he'd slowed the pace, a bit.

They kept on walking.

 She caught up with Seifer on the first hill and he gave her a sidelong look but didn't say anything and so, stubbornly, neither did she. The old tensions had flown home to roost, settling between them in a cloud of feathery words. Quistis supposed she should feel grateful that she could remember what had happened that winter.

 Maybe she even was. 

She watched the landscape around her with the assessing gaze of the born strategist as the houses thinned out to scrubland, and then the scrub sprouted into fields, rocky and thin with plantations of grey-green trees and low overhanging vines. The air was hot and heavy, scented with the smell of plants and vegetation that smelt almost medicinal. Quistis could feel it in the back of her throat as she breathed in. It reminded her of something but she couldn't quite remember what.

As per usual.

They reached the ridge and began to drop down the other side into a small gully. Quistis's shoes kicked up little puffs of dust as she walked, and the fine film covered her clothes from the knees down, drifted, and stuck to her hair. Seifer coughed in front of her.

The dusty valley continued a short way as they turned back towards the sea and then joined the end of another valley in a sharp V of scrub and bramble. This valley was wider, even lush. Trees cast some shade and the air was cooler. This valley had a stream in it, though it was more like a river. 

The sound of rushing water broke some of the tension and reminded Quistis that she really, urgently, needed to pee. She was glad when Seifer settled down on a flat stone overlooking the water. He stretched out on the rock, soaking up the heat radiating from it like a lizard, and didn't seem to mind or even worry when Quistis wandered off to go find a convenient bush. In the trees, the strong medicinal scent of the vegetation was even more obvious.

She walked back to find Seifer, who was, perhaps surprisingly, still where she had left him, somehow managing to make a slab of dusty rock look comfortable. His eyes were closed. She muted her steps, trying to surprise him.

It didn't work.

"I know you're there."

Quistis didn't reply. Seifer picked up a stone from the gravel beside him, bounced it once in his palm and threw it in one smooth movement. The stone clicked off the toe of Quistis' boot, or where it had been. Quistis moved to the river, giving in to her internal temptations, and scooped up a handful of water. He followed her movement with his head and opened his eyes just in time to see the water on a course towards his face, but too late to do anything about it.

The resulting stream of curses was educational, or would have been if Quistis hadn't known all the words already.  It was like, she thought, a chemical reaction. Cold Water Plus Seifer Equals Swearing. 

"You didn't see that coming."

"But I knew where you were.  Loosening up at last, Trepe? You're pissing about. Joining in with us lesser mortals?" 

Quistis tried to stop her blush, tightened her lips and sat down on the slab next to Seifer. Unprofessional, her mind lamented. You're getting called on conduct by Seifer Almasy. 

Ye gods.

It wasn't just the pot calling the kettle black, it was the pot calling the sugar basin black. 

Quistis had a horror of wasting time. She felt suddenly and obscurely guilty and hid the blush by kneeling on the edge of the slab and dipping her glasses into the water to try and clean them. Her hair slid down into her face in heavy damp locks and she twisted it up into a dusty bun. The movement crushed some more of the small plants underneath her knees, releasing more of the familiar medicinal smell. It highlighted a memory in her brain but the recollection stayed resolutely fuzzy-edged. It was beyond annoying. Quistis pounded herself on the forehead.

"Didn't know you were into self-harm."

Quistis sighed and readjusted her glasses on her nose. "I'm not, but….."The spectacles took the blurry edges of her vision away but the memory stayed resolutely fuzzy." Look, don't these plants remind you of something?"

Seifer squinted at the plants, rolled onto one elbow and uprooted one, soil clinging to its roots and dribbling sand all over his T shirt. "Yeah. They smell kinda funny, don't they? We used to have them growing by the sea in Centra.  You know, the orphanage. I think Selphie ate some once."   

"You remember." It was a statement.  

Well, yeah, it was hard to forget. She went purple, for fuck's sake." Seifer tossed the plant back into the stream and crossed his arms behind his head.

"No, you remember." She stressed the last word. 

"You don't." It wasn't a question. 

Quistis wasn't surprised. She'd never suspected Seifer of being dumb: maybe he didn't put the same priorities on things as most other people, but he wasn't stupid. 

"I used GFs, remember. We had this conversation back in Trabia. And you never did."

"No." Right now Seifer's tone said; the conversation stops here. He'd turned slightly away from her, arms crossed over his chest, and had absently started flicking pebbles into the stream.

Quistis ignored it, ploughing resolutely on. "Rinoa remembers. So does Irvine.

"Rinoa's got nothing to forget." Was that a slight gentling of his tone? "Go pick on the cowboy."

Quistis tried a new tactic. "Do you know how annoying it is? I never realised how much I had to say I don't remember before I stopped using GFs so much. And now I keep wondering what I forgot that I don't even know I forgot, what kind of stuff I just threw out because I never even realised it was important."  She leant back. "They say it'll come back, but no one told us how soon. I think Squall remembers a bit, but you know how he is. Maybe the thing with Rinoa helps. He's got someone's memories at least." 

Seifer lit a cigarette, taking his time selecting one from the pack and cupping his hands ostentatiously against a nonexistent breeze. "I remember when I first came to Garden. I met you and you just walked straight past me. I thought you just didn't want to know, so fuck you. And it just never came up again. I didn't want to mention it and you all didn't know how to, so you know, I just let it lie. What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, remember me? We all used to live together back when we were six. I was a jerk?' But I never used GFs. Guess I always figured I could learn to live without them. I was good enough to live without them. But Squall..I dunno. He just made me want more not to use them. I remember the first time he saw Zell after he came to the Garden." 

"They didn't come at the same time?" Quistis questioned

Seifer shrugged. "Nah. Zell's younger. Well, maybe he's not, all that much, but he looks it. Acts it. And anyway the first time Zell saw Squall and went up to him to say hi he just blanked him and then he was all '…who the hell are you?' So then I decided that I didn't want to use something that could fuck you up that badly." He stared out over the water, eyes dark. 

Quistis could almost see the scene: Zell hurt and confused and Squall just confused. But Zell was tougher than most people gave him credit for.  Anyone who could stand up to years of Seifer's hairstyle taunts without shaving their head in self-defence had to have a core of steel.

Did I blank anyone when I came to Garden? How many people did I offend without even realising it?  

Quistis realised she should be thinking about what to do with Seifer, but then the siren song of unremembered anecdotes and the allure of finally being able to scratch the little itch in the back of her head finally lured her in. "Tell me."

"What?" Seifer looked exasperated, behind the smoke. "The meaning of life? The real reason why Zell has that stupid tattoo? Where Squall got his pimp coat, and I'll tell you that one for free, it was the Marital Aids and Exotica shop on…   "

Quistis was almost sure he was joking, or at least being creatively nasty. "Everything.  Something. Whatever you remember."

"When we were kids? It wasn't that great."

She half sat up. "Listen, Seifer.  I will say this only once, and I hope to Hyne you've got a video recorder handy because this chance isn't going to come again in your lifetime. Ever. Please. I'm asking you a favour. Tell me."

Seifer looked thoughtful "What's it worth?"

"Knowing that you've done someone a good turn."

"Banks don't take good deeds."

"You're so..mercenary"

"You say that like it's a bad thing. And I'm not going to remind you what you do for a living."

"Seriously, Seifer. I really, really, need to know." 

Seifer shot a glance over at her and Quistis could almost see him weighing up the balance.  Finally, he just shrugged. "I remember and I don't bloody well want to.  You don't and you feel like you're missing out.  Trust me, you're not. At the orphanage, it wasn't great.  It wasn't bad.  But we didn't do anything." 

"Well, what's this like? What does it remind you of?"

He swatted at a fly. "It's hot. It used to be this hot, in summer. And those plants, I think they used to grow by the sea. Like I said, Selphie ate some once.  She used to eat everything that wasn't nailed down.  Fucking annoying if you ask me. Oh, wait. You just did." 

Quistis rested one hand on her chin, trying to force herself to remember. She thought of a little Selphie, a mini Irvine, and grinned.

"What did they look like?"

"I dunno.  When you're a kid, it's just them, you know. You don't really think about anything like that. We all used to get second hand clothes, and then we'd fight over who got the best stuff. We used to fight a lot." He winced. "I used to fight a lot.  Kids.  People, Random trees…."

"What about me?"

"You were a bossy little bitch. You used to try and stop us and then you'd get punched in the nose."

"But that didn't stop me." Quistis said slowly.

He grinned. "No, you used to get fighting mad, and then you'd go mental." He said the last word approvingly.  

"We'd get sand everywhere. Sand…..I think you buried Squall in the sand."

"I tried, to, but he wouldn't stay still.  Zell used to build these little tunnels in the sand with his hands, and then I'd come and stamp on them. I just thought it'd be great to build a big one with Squall in it, but he wouldn't lie still." He sighed. "Guess I was jealous. Still am."

Quistis inwardly smiled. The first step to dealing with a problem is admitting you have it….."You used to build castles."

"They used to fall down."

"And then you'd stamp on them too."  Quistis almost, almost, but not quite, remembered.  It was more annoying than not remembering at all.  "Edea was always there.  Matron. She'd call us in from the beach." She could see that in her mind, remember the world being a whole lot bigger and filled with a lot more interesting things.

"I knew you'd remember her. She'd give us biscuits when we came in. Little faces on the top made out of Smarties."

"We used to swap them." She remembered sharing the sweets out, making sure she got blue ones to stick on the top of her cookie as eyes. Seifer had favoured a different colour. "Red?" 

He frowned. "I guess.  I just waved them about in front of Selphie. She wasn't allowed Smarties. Too many colourings. I bet her she wouldn't eat a whole packet from the fridge one night and she sneaked downstairs and scarfed them all. It took Matron until five am to get her to bed."

The mention of a bet rang a bell. "You and Squall used to dare each other all the time." Thoughts and images flitted together in a jigsaw of waves and damp footprints on stone. "The sea. He betted you wouldn't dive into the sea from the biggest rock." "From the window." He spoke absently. 

"You were so dumb. It was miles up."

"I'm not the smart one.  If you think about things too much, you never get anything fuckin' done."

"If you thought about things, maybe you wouldn't do them in the first place."

"Where's the fun in that?"   

Quistis spoke slowly. "You jumped forty feet into the sea at high tide. You could have broken your neck."

"It might've saved time in the long run."

And then, suddenly, she remembered. Seifer and Squall had been fighting, as usual.  She couldn't remember just who had been winning, but then Seifer had called Squall a coward, and Squall had said no, Seifer was, and dared him to do something really brave, to prove it. Seifer had scornfully demanded what ( he'd been sitting on Squall's stomach at the time, pinning the smaller boy to the ground) and Squall had looked up, seen the highest window that overlooked the sea, gave a little smile, pointed with his free hand and said "Jump into the sea from that."

It had been high tide at the time.  Seifer had scowled, looked unsure for about a second, punched Squall in the nose, climbed off him and headed up into the tower without saying a word.

They'd all watched, which had probably been his intent to start with. Zell had told Squall that they were going to get into trouble. Squall had shrugged. Quistis had told him that he was going to be in big trouble if Seifer hurt himself.  They hadn't really believed he would, you didn't think about those things as kids. They'd watched until Seifer appeared in the window, looking suddenly small against the frame. He'd thrown it open and then disappeared. 

Zell had shrugged and turned back to his tunnels. "Didn't think he'd do it." He should really, have known better. Even at seven Seifer had exhibited the same kind of if-you-don't-think –I-can-I'll-run-there-over-broken-glass-just-to-prove-you-wrong tendency as he did now. And if he appeared to be backing down, it was only to get a run-up, for later.

They'd all turned back to whatever they'd been doing when Seifer launched himself from the window, legs still running in thin air. Quistis didn't remember being impressed. What was the point? He'd landed in the sea with the unholy luck of small children and professional idiots one foot from the nearest rock, swum untidily back to the shore and punched Squall in the nose again as a way of illustrating a point. Squall had punched him back and they'd fought until they'd squashed Selphie's sandcastle. At some point Zell and Quistis joined in and Matron had come out, hauled the boys off each other with a lecture to which neither of them listened, scowling at each other with mulish faces, and sent them upstairs. 

Quistis shook herself. The recollection seemed almost too real. Was she remembering remembering, or had it really happened? Quistis Trepe: this WAS your life..

It made her head hurt. "You were such a pain in the ass.  You really haven't changed."

Seifer grinned. "Want to take a rest stop off Memory Motorway?"

"I ..remember." True, the memory was just one bright spot in a snow crashed video, but it was something.  And maybe if she could remember just one thing, and remember it well, she'd remember other stuff.  Just a matter of time.  

"Congratulations" Sarcastically. 

Quistis leant back on the rock. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt in Seifer's company.  The awkward silences between them had vanished and he for one looked more relaxed that any time she'd ever known him, lounging in the shade, smoking, eyes half closed. The hot landscape suited him but the relaxation felt…..wrong. She'd never seen Seifer looking so much himself without fighting.    

He wasn't paying attention, staring out into the shade.  "There's fish in there." 

"So?"

"Big fish."

Quistis frowned, raising herself on one elbow.  It was hard to see through the rippling water, though as she squinted, a shape of rocks and weeds melded itself miraculously into a trout. Seifer was right. It was big. She scanned the river.  And there were lots of them, studding the river like mini submarines.  Occasionally one would lazily swim up to the surface and make a lunge for a fly.

 There was also, she noticed, a large white sign some way down the river. If she pushed her glasses up onto her nose and really squinted she could almost read it. It said 'No Fishing'.

Seifer had already taken his boots off.

"You're not."

"Watch me."

"Seifer, it's illegal"

"It's free!" He stubbed his cigarette out onto the stones and stepped into the water. It soaked his jeans up to his knees.

"If you were paying, it wouldn't be illegal."

"Just think of it as a free lunch."

"Raw fish? You're really spoiling me. I'd be more worried if I thought you were actually going to catch one." 

"Watch me."

Quistis sighed. Seifer's own special disregard for any rules was beyond her. Admittedly, there seemed to be no one around, and they were very big fish, but if no one kept to the rules then there wouldn't be any rules, and since the rules were there, you had to assume that they were there for a good reason. Maybe the fish were genetically engineered killing machines. Piranha mutants. Miniature sharks with laser beams attached to their heads.  

She watched. In the stream, Seifer was taking his shirt off. It twisted between his hands like a net as he moved very slowly downstream, stalking, adjusting his movements so his shadow was cast away from the fish.  He lowered the T shirt in the water, facing her, and Quistis took a moment to enjoy the view.  The tan really did go all the way down. 

"You are so never going to catch anything. And even if you do, we'll never be able to get it back to the town without it going off in this heat"

"Sssh." Seifer swirled his T shirt in the water. "It's not the fish, it's the point of it." He slid a foot forwards, carefully. The dappled pattern of light and shade passing through the leaves over his head cast his face in shadow.

Quistis squinted.  Her hands doodled idly in the dust, picking up a strand of tough grass and stripping the coating off it with her teeth. "The point of what?"

"It's not anyone's.  It's just a river.  And anyone rich enough to own a whole river isn't going to bother about a few fish. What do you think they do, count them in the morning?"

"They're still not your fish." 

"Give me a minute" He bent forwards, eyes intent on the water.

Quistis stretched out a toe towards the water and poked it in, feeling mud squish beneath her toes. It felt cold to her skin, which was finally acclimatising to the dusty southern heat.  She shaded her eyes to watch Seifer, standing up to his hips in the middle of the stream.  He'd turned, back half-towards her, the shade of the trees obscuring some kind of pattern on his shoulders. It looked like some kind of paint or tattoo.

"What……..?"

The noise made Seifer glance round involuntarily just as he scooped something out of the water netted in his ragged T shirt. The movement must have thrown him slightly off balance for a fraction of a second.  It was unfortunate that the fish gave a thrashing heave just at that moment, escaping from the makeshift net.  It was big, Quistis saw for a second, about a foot long, slippery and silver in the bright light with its scales shining like armour. Seifer swore and made a grab for the thrashing fish, missed, swore again, slipped and disappeared with the fish beneath the surface of the stream, arms windmilling in a vain attempt to keep his balance.

The only sign left of him was a soaked and sinking T shirt, water-darkened to black, disappearing down the river. The other fish had all vanished, and the shapes making up the sandy bottom of the stream were now just what they appeared, pebbles and logs.

Quistis laughed.

A hand erupted from the depths and grabbed the T shirt before Seifer emerged from the stream, spitting water and curses in equal measure.  He squelched out onto the rock, giving her dark looks.

Quistis returned them with a smile. "Divine justice." 

"Bullshit If you hadn't distracted me I could have had one by now." He lay down on the rock, displaying his back to Quistis' view. It was a tattoo, she saw. The design looked something like twisted spiralling demon-wings, reaching from the nape of his neck to the point of each shoulderblade. 

"I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Fuck me, Quistis Trepe doesn't know something?  Hold the front page!" Seifer rolled over, sat up and wrung out his T shirt, cascading water staining the dust into dark brown mud.

"Sarcasm's the lowest form of wit, you know."

"That's what everyone says when they can't think of a smart comeback."

"The day when I call you witty is the day I start wearing pink nail polish." 

"Yeah, yeah. "

Quistis didn't reply.  From the look of the sun it was past midday and the fierce heat was shading into something less brutal, the kind of long, lazy afternoon other people seemed to enjoy. She stretched luxuriously, arms and back muscles cracking.  Trust Seifer to find the one part of this Hyne-forsaken town she really quite liked.  She'd never let him know, of course, but well, it was okay. Not as good as training, of course, or the kind of buzz you go from finishing something just right, but it was     nice.  She lazily raised an eyelid as Seifer flipped a pebble into the stream

"I hate this damn one horse seaside town." 

Quistis shaded her eyes with her hand to glance up at him. "So when're you leaving?" 

"Dunno.  How long does it take to grow a new set of balls? Whenever.  When I feel like it. When I run out of money. When they start lighting the flaming torches. "

"Would you go back if you could?"

"If Squall begged me on his knees I wouldn't.  Why bother? It's not going to happen any time soon unless the girly bastard has a complete change of heart and everyone else gets selective amnesia.  He's such a useless motherfucker.  I bet he's made a right damn mess of Garden. "

"Did you know Cid made him Commander?"

"News gets around. I may not buy the papers but I read them sometimes.  Must have been the best publicity move Cid ever made in his sweater-vest wearing life."

"Squall's doing really well" It was not entirely the truth: Quistis knew Squall was working himself into the ground trying to live up to Cid's reputation. He was, so far, succeeding, at the loss of almost any personal life and to the indulgent annoyance of Rinoa.

Seifer spat. "Joy. He would be." 

"I'll let him know you asked after him" Her smile was sharp.

"You dare.  Does he still wear the clothes?"

Quistis gave a non-committal nod.

"I never understood that outfit. Dunno why he ever bothers with a fucking sword, he can just take that damn necklace off and bludgeon people to death with it.  How does he manage to jump around with that on and not break his own nose?  If he really gets into the medallion thing he's going to have to put a plate on a chain round his neck to find something that's bigger."

"Well, why the hell did you wear a white coat? Oh, look at me, I'm trying to hide and I'm wearing white like an idiot!"

"I don't do hiding.  And don't even get me started on that pink thing of yours."

"It's not pink!"

Seifer grinned "Peach.  How does that fit in with your camouflage theory? At least I can walk in what I wear." 

"I don't wear it all the time."

"I never really understood the whole uniform. I mean, female mercenaries, no problem, but what was with the whole' yes, I shall develop the most feared fighting force in Centra and I shall dress half of them in knee socks' thing?  

"Now you're the last person I'd have picked to complain about that." 

"Oh, I'm not complaining. I just think Cid liked it"

Quistis shrugged.  "He isn't at Garden much now.  Spends most of his time with Edea. Seifer, she's not well. The sorceress thing-it broke her. She has flashbacks. Dreams. Nightmares, more like. She feels ashamed.  People don't remember what she was like before, they just remember her face and they act different, kind of angry afraid and she can tell. " She gave Seifer a hard look. "You don't have anything like that? No problems?"

"I have problems all the time."

"Don't avoid the question."

Seifer fished in his pocket for his cigarettes and swore as he pulled the soaked and disintegrating remnants of the pack out of his jeans.  The lighter didn't spark after he flicked it a few times and he threw it into the stream. Quistis watched its cheap green plastic case sink to the bottom.  

"Do you remember Edea when we were little?  She got kind of weird after the sorceress thing. That must have been when we were about eight.  She told you about that?"

"She did." Quistis didn't mention in what circumstances the information had been delivered, and Seifer didn't ask, carrying on talking.

"Not really different, just sadder, I guess. Wasn't really thinking about anyone else at the time, but, you know, she was never fucking right."

Quistis closed her eyes, trying to recall a memory, any memory, of Edea before the wars. From what she could remember at Garden, the couple had acted as her surrogate parents in a kind and vaguely dissociated way.  Some things never changed. They'd been better than the real thing, in many ways, an anchor for most of her life.  Quistis had never needed a crutch, but Cid and Edea had been like a heirloom walking stick-you didn't use it, and kept it in the umbrella stand most of the time, but it was nice to know that it was there in case anything happened. 

"I can't remember."

"You're not missing much." Seifer stared at the water.  In the golden light of the sun his shadow cast a spiky long reflection on the rocks. For a minute his eyes looked very dark, like the windows to a haunted house, shuttered and cold.

Quistis asked him cautiously "What do you mean?"

"Nothing.  Forget it. Look, we should be going "

Quistis looked round and silently agreed. The sun had started to dip towards the summits of the surrounding hills. It was still hot, but a breeze had sprung up from nowhere, raising the dust round her feet in miniature eddies and whipping the stream into tiny waves.  

We must have talked for hours……

They both stood, Seifer snatched his shirt from the rocks and shrugged it on. Quistis picked up his discarded packet of wet cigarettes and slipped it into her bag.   Seifer gave her a sideways look but didn't say anything. He shrugged and raised one eyebrow in a way that said if she wanted to clean up after him why not let her?

Déjà vu.

Quistis sighed. All that talking and she still hadn't made up her mind about what to do.  More talking must be needed. It was strange that she didn't seem to be finding the prospect very dismaying.

Weird. 

Seifer, beside her, looked suddenly thoughtful. "So, what do you want to do now?"

"You?"

"Food. You?"

Quistis waved a hand in the air in the universal gesture of indecision. "I'm not that bothered. I think we need to go over some things."

Seifer sighed and kicked a pebble into the water. "Fine. We can go to my place.  I'll pick something up on the way. Don't give me that look. I meant food. What else? Hyne, sometimes you really piss me off. "

"The feeling is mutual."

"I thought it might be. Can't think why the fuck I got that idea." He gestured at her feet. "So? Let's get going."

"I don't know the way." Quistis thought she could probably have worked it out: after all the river had to lead to the sea eventually, and then it was back the way they'd come, but she wanted Seifer in front of her. 

"Do I have to do everything?"

"Makes a change from doing nothing." Quistis flipped a second handful of water at him as they left the stream, but he ducked. 

"Doing nothing's not my problem. I always got into shit for doing things."

"For not doing things too….Like papers. I swear if I ever get you back to Garden I'll sit you down and make you write them all out. Three times."

"See, that's just another reason for not going back. After I've done all that and Squall's got me copying 'I Will Not Feed People I Love To Monsters' out five hundred times, I won't have much of my hands left." He thought for a moment. "Better make it 'I Will Not Feed Squall's Girlfriend, Dammit, To Monsters.' Asshole." 

Quistis tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Did you?" She addressed the question to Seifer's back. He paused for a moment, jaw set, and then continued on down the narrow path.

"Love her? I guess. I did. Now? Her and Leonbrat, last time I saw them she had him written all over her face. There's just too much stuff, you know." 

"History?" Quistis knew better than to ask Seifer if he regretted it. She didn't think for one minute she'd get any kind of sensible answer. Unless you counted 'fuck OFF 'as sensible, anyway….  

"Right." His face was tense in the golden dusky light and Quistis felt she could guess at least some of what he was thinking: how could she like HIM better than ME?  She could have offered a few suggestions, but since when had Seifer ever listened to her advice?

They walked the rest of the way back in silence, their shadows long in the setting sunlight. Seifer turned right when they reached the town, out of the centre and down dusty backstreets filled with cheap boarding houses and shops selling souvenirs, teatowels and snacks. He stopped to buy some fish and chips. Quistis refused a share, having a prejudice against consuming more than half her weight in grease at any one time. 

Quistis looked round as the houses got progressively smaller and shabbier. The 

signs outside properties had changed from prosperous 'The Elms': No Vacancies (or 'Dunroamin', or 'Chez Nous') boards in gold lettering to small and desperate pieces of cardboard tacked up behind yellowing lace curtains. 'Room for rent: Furnishings, Sink, Heating.' Curtains twitched as they went past. The whole place smelled equally of cat piss and fish. 

"Nice."

"Yeah, yeah, Miss Posh Hotel Person. At least I don't have a landlady who gives me Twenty Questions every time I go out. Snob."

"Asshole."

"Workaholic"

"Loser."

"You know I'm going to win, so why bother? Anyway, this is it."

Quistis was less than impressed. The house looked like an old gas station that had been converted into an ironmongers and then abandoned when times got tough. It leaned drunkenly to the side, subsiding and aging ungracefully. 

"What do they charge you for this?"

"Enough." 

"Whatever it is, they're overpaid."

"Do you want to come in or not?"

"Sure." She attempted to rub the mud off her boots on the street, giving up when the dust cloud produced by her movements reached her nose and made her cough. 

"Don't bother.  There's no way you could make it worse than it is."

"For once, I think you're right."       

Seifer turned the key in the lock, rattled the handle, and kicked the door, which creaked open reluctantly. He gestured her in.

It was like walking into a sauna. The room faced due south and the sun's rays shining all day on the closed window had acted just like a greenhouse. Quistis could feel sweat starting to break out all over her skin.

Seifer, next to her, swore "The damn AC's packed up again"

The first detail of the room that Quistis noticed was a pile of books strewn over the floor. They were facing away from her, making it was impossible to read their titles, but from first impressions they didn't look like the kind of books she would have expected Seifer to read.  She wouldn't have expected Seifer to read, period. It had been like pulling teeth just getting him to look at the SeeD manual for his exams.

"What's that?"

"Just books"

He kicked them casually under the table with a swift nudge of his heel and threw open the window. Quistis acted like she didn't notice but made a mental note to go and check later. It probably wouldn't be anything she wanted to find, but suspicious habits died hard.

Seifer stalked over to the hapless AC with a curse and started pulling out fraying wires and decaying pieces of tubing. Quistis looked round the room.

It didn't take long.  Hyne, the whole thing couldn't have been much bigger than her first SeeD dormitory, and with the air-conditioner out of action, it had the same inerasable smell of wet socks. 

It was one of those flats that was optimistically called 'bed-sit' or 'studio' in advertisements, along with copy stressing its convenience, cheapness and all modern amenities, such as a sink and running water down all the walls. Quistis would have called it poky, if anyone had asked.  The furniture was the kind you got in ready-furnished houses, namely stuff that even the local charity shop wouldn't have taken.  Most of it seemed to be fishboxes hacked into pieces, interspersed by a chipped enamel sink with a ring round it, a tiny hotplate, and a fridge that was almost as small.

"Has it got a bed?"

Seifer pulled back a curtain. "A mattress. On the floor. The guy said it was a futon in the ad, and I thought 'what the fuck's a futon?' but it was cheap, so I took it anyway."

"A real roach hotel."

"Nah. Doesn't get roaches. It's under the power lines."

Quistis shot him a curious look as a small piece of metal pinged off the wall just above her head. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sawing for teens, Quistis. I'm juggling fish. I'm checking for weirdos. I'm pushing an elephant up the fucking stairs. What do you think?"

"You're hitting the airconditioner.  With a spanner"

"It's not working. I'm fixing it. Fixing, you know, when you get broken things and try to make them work?"

"You know, sarcasm's the lowest form of  wit."

"So bite me."

"I rest my case. How long did it take you to think that one up?" She stalked over to the bookshelf and started to leaf through the titles, a weird mix of secondhand manuals, magazines and pulp fantasy. Titles like The Princess Bride rubbed shoulders with back copies of Bows And Ammo. She picked a book at random and turned to the first page.

"'I realised the wereleopards were having a big effect on how comfortable I felt nude'…."Seifer, what is this crap?"

"Not mine."

"Riiiiiight."

He glanced up from repeatedly hitting the air conditioning with a spanner. "No, seriously. Some of them came with the room."

"Fine." Quistis ran her finger along a list of titles, obviously library second hands from their plastic jackets. "All Tomorrow's Parties? American Gods? The Princess Bride?"

"Mine."

"Cops Without Tops?"

"Mine." 

The magazine featured a busty brunette in a policeman's jacket and very little else, pouting over the barrel of a gun. 

Quistis thought Seifer could have at least have had the decency to look embarrassed, but his tone never changed. She slid the issue back beside its crumpled sister rag-Stars Without Bras. Both reminded her of a certain unofficial Garden publication: Cadets with Pets. What was he hiding under his bed if he had his smut on open display? She dreaded to think.

Quistis searched out another book. "Woman's Weekly?"

"What do you think?" He gave her a disgusted look, as far as Quistis could see over his shoulder.  

"Bows and Ammo Issue 41- Throwing Stars-We Test The Best. Money Back If Not Completely Decapacitated?" 

"Mine." He shrugged. "I'm trying to decide if I can afford an upgrade for Hyperion."

"You can't.  Parasitic Infection Of Echinoderms? The Chambered Nautilus Newsletter? A Study Of The Prevalence Of Digenea Trematoda Infection In Seafaring Humans?" 

"Here.  But good for firelighters."

"You know, they say that you can tell all about a person from what kind of books they have." 

"Who're they?" Seifer's voice, from inside the airconditioner, sounded distinctly unimpressed. There was a soft chink as he tossed a spare part over his shoulder which disappeared under the sofa.

Quistis shrugged "Same they who say anything. Anyway, from that, I think you're a homicidal lesbian with a fish fetish."

He faked admiration. "Wow. Now I can see why you made SeeD. Criminals beware." There was a clunk from the airconditioner, which sagged towards the ground with an asthmatic wheeze and abruptly whirred into life, billowing dust. Seifer snatched his hands back with a curse and coughed.

"Did the sarcasm stick in your throat?"  Quistis snapped.

 Seifer wiped his hands on his trousers, leaving dark streaks of oil. "I bet you alphabetise your books. I bet you keep your Triple Triad cards in folders, for Hyne's sake."

"There's nothing wrong with being organised…"

"Like hell. You're so damn organised if you shot yourself in the head the bullet'd be dated. " He walked over to the tiny fridge. "And labelled. Want a beer?"

Quistis, avoiding the question, ran a finger over the shelf and looked at it critically.

"Don't you clean?"

Seifer glanced up. "Huh? Quistis, I'm twenty. This is clean. I've got better things to do with my time than dust."

She folded her arms. "Like what?"

Seifer stood up and looked away, scratching at a piece of Sellotape stuck to the fridge. "Work." He said it flatly. "Try not to sleep. Smoke. Drink. Go screw people's lives up. Especially mine. Train"

Quistis jumped on the word, feeling slightly awkward and clutching at any straw to break the silence. "We could train together."

He bent back down to the fridge "Sure." and then grinned up with a trace of his old arrogance. "I'll kick your ass. Any time."

"I'll hand your ass to you on a plate, soldier boy."

"I'll handle your ass any time you want" His gaze swept up Quistis' legs, meaningfully.

"That's it!" She picked up a book off a nearby shelf, cunningly disguised as a fishbox. "Jerk." She threw it. Seifer ducked. The book hit the wall behind him with a slap, trailing plaster dust just as his hand exited the fridge holding a can of beer. He hefted it meaningfully.

"Your ass is toast."

 "Like you're going to throw that. Waste of cool beer." 

"True." He looked at it in mock regret, popped the lid and took a long swallow. " Too good to waste on you. Want some?"

"I don't drink.  You're just trying to sabotage me. Get me so drunk I lose tomorrow."

"Who said anything about fighting tomorrow?"

"I did. Right now." Quistis lifted an eyebrow, elegantly. "Unless you're afraid?"

"I laugh in the face of danger." Seifer looked round, and picked up a sock off the floor. He threw it down with a sweeping, theatrical gesture. "The challenge is yours. The beach, at dawn."

"Dawn?" Quistis wrinkled her nose at the sight of the sock, which was wrinkled, had holes in and looked like it could form some kind of biological weapon.

"Sure. Makes it more dramatic.  Choice of weapon?"

She pretended to think, seeing Seifer's gaze turn to Hyperion. "I'm sure we'll find something on the beach."  No way was she letting him out of here with that…

"I need to practice with Hyperion sometime." 

"But do you need full body ventilation? Let me put this another way: would you really like to get shot through with holes for carrying a concealed weapon?"

"It wouldn't be concealed." They both knew he was just arguing for the sake of arguing.

"That's worse. Where did you get it, anyway?"

Seifer ran a hand over the sleek leather case. It was new and looked like it had cost more than the entire contents of the room. "Picked it up in Trabia after I came back. Buried it." The gunblade looked as out of place in the shabby flat as a snake in the forest floor. 

Something had been bugging Quistis, and this seemed to be the time for shared confidences. "Why 'Hyperion'?"

"Because 'Save The Queen' is so much more logical? Quistis, we don't even have a queen!"

Quistis was aware that she was blushing. "That's different. And you didn't answer my question."

Seifer shrugged. "It was out of some old book somewhere. Can't remember where. Some old god or sun name or something. Save The Queen?"

"It just fitted."  

"Like hell."

Damn, warning, long author validation speech ahead. Yes, I do think I'm cute. So sue me.

As for the question: Seifer is obviously a Disney fan. Hyperion Road was where the first Disney studio was started…As for the symbolism, read Brewers Dictionary Of Phrase And Fable. It fits, but my God he should have done some serious mythology searches before deciding on that name. 

The books: does anyone remember that lj meme that went round recently about which books you had on your shelves? I always thought it was weird, 'cause my top shelf's all comic, the two in between are pretty much popular fiction, art books and novels, with lots of SF &F, and the bottom one is all work stuff. I definitely have a work/play split personality.

The books mentioned:  

The quote abut the nudes and the wereleopards is from a Laurell K Hamilton book. Heh. 

Bows and Ammo: fictional magazine in one of Terry Pratchett's novels.

The Princess Bride: William Goldman. The movie rocked. The book is better.

All Tomorrow's Parties: William Gibson. His post-'Neuromancer' depressing SF world is a big influence on my writing, though you wouldn't know it.   

American Gods: Neil Gaiman. I recently went to a signing of his which was great. I made him a birthday card and he gave me a hug and drew Morpheus and Mister Wednesday all over my books. Of course, I had most everything he'd ever written already, but meeting him and knowing he probably deserves to be a millionaire made it all so much better.  Read it.

Cadets With Pets: I'm a vet student. In the fifth year we all do something for charity. This year the fifth form stripped and published a calendar full of vet students with strategic sheep and dogs and textbooks covering their naughty bits. The December pic was them all sitting in the lecture theatre, buck naked and wearing nothing but Santa hats.

The journal titles: making a brief guest appearance from the pages of my favourite book of all time: The Bone People by Keri Hulme, in a similar 'Hmm, I can study their shelves and find out what kind of people they are' scene. 

Altol (d00d, F&I…I bow down.  I really, really liked the first chapter.) Amber Tinted (so..many…reviews…you got carpal tunnel syndrome yet? I really appreciate it), breaker-one (I also have a weird sense of humour. More like black.) DBZ Fanfiction Queen (the infamous paragraph…sorry. It was showing up all right on the previews. I have no idea why it did it, but it wasn't my largest chapter.), gauntlet challenge, (The nasty receptionist (who will be recurring in later chapters), is a cross between the typical British landlady and a woman we called the Breakfast Nazi who we met in a hostel in Italy. Yes, there are real people like that -and most of them run Blackpool boarding houses.), Ghost 140 (hey there), Quistis88 (Html should be sorted on this chapter: Blame ff.net. I do. I seriously must have uploaded the fic twenty times.  I was…..*holds fingers apart* this close to throwing the computer out of the window. And that's close.), nynaeve77 (the receptionista will be back), Mana Angel( please do!:D)seatbelts (Complicative! A cool word. And so Quistis!), seventhe (you really should hear some of my conversations with my family.  Verbal tennis. Last time it led to my father commenting that 'I was going to need a strong man to take me on.' I take that as a compliment.  The smut is two chapters away.) The Finely Tuned Fiend (Time, care and thought: read stress, coffee and quote stealing. I'm flattered.) 


	5. Chapter Five: Any Other Summer

Chapter Five: Any Other Summer
    
    She is standing by the water 
    
    As her smile begins to curl
    
    In this or any another summer
    
    She is something altogether different 
    
    Never just an ordinary girl.
    
    Counting Crows: Hard Candy
    
    The pictures (or rather, mini-comic) for this chapter is up at: 
    
     blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images dot habits1
    
     dot jpg and blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images
    
     dot habits dot jpg. Sorry for the odd link, but the html is 
    
    fucking up.  Again.
    
    Note: I have now reloaded this. It should*crosses fingers,
    
     touches wood* be okay. I think.
    
    In response to queries, SDTC updates are fortnightly, Friday
    
     evenings or Sat mornings GMT.  This is because I have no
    
     TV and apparently no life either. :D. God, writing's fun.
    
    It was a beautiful day.
    
    The sun rose, slowly, like it enjoyed it. It shone on an 
    
    empty beach, on streets just as deserted except for stray
    
     dogs and dropped Coke cans. 
    
    It shone on two figures, strolling down the main street.
    
     They were arguing, which was nothing new.   
    
     "I'd hate to see your lungs."
    
    "Just because you don't have any habits apart from
    
     working. " 
    
    "Bad habits. I don't have any bad habits. You, on
    
    the other hand…"
    
    "Yeah, I know. I smoke, I drink. I fight. I try to end
    
     the world and commit breaches of the peace on a 
    
    regular basis. You…you heard everyone's got a 
    
    dark side?"
    
    Quistis nodded cautiously to indicate this might well
    
     be so.
    
    "You've got Perfect Quistis and Oh-Hyne-I-Just-Wasted
    
     One-Sheet-Of-Paper Quistis."  
    
    Quistis internally combusted. "Whereas you have 
    
    Horrible Seifer and Complete Bastard Seifer."
    
    "I'm not that bad."
    
    She conceded. "Maybe." Though thousands of 
    
    angry dead people might beg to differ. "Okay, 
    
    Horrible Seifer and 'Rules? What rules?' Seifer.
    
    There is nothing wrong with keeping to the rules. 
    
    Especially the ones about not attempting hostile
    
     takeovers of other countries." 
    
    "They're more like guidelines….and good," Seifer said,
    
     "is boring."
    
    "Don't knock it until you've tried it."
    
    They continued on, conversation floating down the 
    
    dusty streets. A few doors were already open, shopkeepers
    
     scrubbing their front steps and erecting displays full of
    
     sunglasses and beach towels.  Quistis stepped over a 
    
    fallen stand of paper windmills, and flicked it back upright.
    
       The first tourists were starting to emerge from their air
    
     conditioned and carpeted wombs, groping tiredly for bacon,
    
     coffee and orange juice in the pavement cafes. Seifer gave 
    
    any who got in his way the condescending glare of someone
    
     who knew what real adventure felt like; wet, cold and 
    
    miserable. They usually moved, and fast. 
    
    Quistis couldn't blame them. Seifer looked hungover and
    
     walked like someone who knew that everyone else was
    
     going to get out of his way.
    
    They made their way to the boardwalk without incident 
    
    and were almost at the beach when a figure barred their 
    
    way. It was tall, ascetic and dressed in the black robes of 
    
    one of the more extreme Hynish cults. 
    
    It grated "Do you believe in Hyne?" and held out a leaflet, 
    
    hopefully.   
    
    Seifer snarled and shoulderbarged past the priest. "Yeah, 
    
    we say our prayers ever day.  Twice on Sundays. Now will
    
     you get the hell out of our way?"
    
    A watery gaze turned hopefully to Quistis. "What's your
    
     relationship with Hyne?"
    
    Quistis stared. "Well, you know, it's more like an arrangement.
    
      I don't ask for anything that's not easily fulfilled by 
    
    chance, money or my own hard work, and she doesn't
    
     smite me."
    
    "And yours, young man?"
    
    "I don't kiss on the first date." Seifer snarked back.
    
    "Come on."
    
    "It's never too late to contemplate your immortal soul!"
    
     the preacher yelled at their departing backs.
    
    "Would you like to see yours?"
    
    "Seifer!"
    
    "Hyne, Quistis don't you know better than to talk 
    
    to those weirdos?"
    
    "You started it!"
    
    "You….let's just not get into this again."
    
    "Do you know that is possibly the most adult thing
    
    you have said since I met you?"
    
     "Nnn. Feeling full of the holy spirit already. Must.
    
    .go..save..orphans…drowning baptists…Moomba 
    
    scouts trapped down ..mine…"
    
    "Don't make me laugh."
    
    "Yeah. Moomba Scouts are evil. I'd leave them there."
    
    They stepped down onto the beach, heading north.
    
    The sand was a pale holiday-brochure yellow. It
    
     clashed with the sky, which was vividly blue. 
    
    Over the dunes it seemed huge.
    
    Seifer stopped at a protected spot in the centre of
    
     the dunes, shaded from the sight of early morning 
    
    dog walkers and late night stoner teens. He dragged 
    
    a shallow ring in the sand with his foot which almost
    
     immediately began to fill with sand again. Quistis put
    
     her bag down and picked out the two sticks they'd 
    
    selected. She weighted them thoughtfully, slashing 
    
    them through the air like twin swords. Makeshift 
    
    weapons, they felt unbalanced and over-light in
    
     her hands; just a couple of plain two-foot long
    
     branches planed and scoured silver by the sea.  
    
    They were almost exactly the same length as 
    
    gunblades. Quistis threw one to Seifer and was 
    
    slightly disappointed when he caught it left handed
    
     and without looking.
    
    Holding hers loosely, she limbered up, stretching 
    
    with the same carefully rehearsed elegance as her
    
     fighting moves. Seifer stretched a few times, flicking
    
     his stick from hand to hand, and took up a stance on
    
     the opposite side of the circle. Quistis assumed a 
    
    defensive pose, feet side on and stick held ready. 
    
    Her hair whipped in the fresh early morning breeze, 
    
    tangled already to knots.
    
    The ground they had chosen was not the best, a far cry
    
     from the meticulously fair practice grounds at Garden. 
    
    The dunes were treacherous footing, uneven and studded 
    
    with stones and clumps of tough marramgrass. Both their
    
     feet sank up to the ankles in sand. 
    
    Quistis ignored it.  Seifer shook it away from his boots
    
     like a plague with a few whispered curses before gesturing
    
     for her to attack. It was the same casual invitation as
    
     he used in most of his fights, delivered with an 
    
    identical supercilious smirk.     
    
    Quistis smiled in return and saluted him. "En garde."
    
    Seifer returned the salute, making a mockery of the
    
     smooth motions and unrolling the gesture into a swipe.
    
     "You're so going to lose."
    
    "Want to bet on it?" She feinted to the side. Hyne, it
    
     had been years since she'd trained with a sword. 
    
    "Money?" Seifer smirked at her, halfway through a
    
     series of feints Quistis recognised as those he used 
    
    for testing his enemies. After all, she'd seen then often
    
     enough. 
    
    Quistis followed his movements with her stick and 
    
    swore softly as her eyes hit the rising sun. "I'd like to
    
     wager something both of us actually have." 
    
    He alternated between watching the tip of her stick and
    
     her eyes with absolute concentration, a slight frown
    
    throwing the scar crossing his face into relief. "Yeah,
    
     yeah." 
    
    Quistis didn't reply, saving her breath. She slid effortlessly
    
     out from under his next slash and out of the spotlighting
    
     sunlight, dropping her shoulder and slipping away
    
    from the blade.  
    
    Damn, she was out of practice. It had been so long since
    
     she'd fought with anything other than a whip or gun. 
    
    Seifer was casually good at swordfighting in the kind
    
     of way that meant you didn't have to think about what
    
     you were doing, but it was obvious that he hadn't been
    
     training formally for a while. This might have helped
    
     if Quistis had actually trained with a gunblade or any
    
     kind of sword in the last six months. Worse, he didn't
    
     fight mechanically or in any kind of taught and predictive
    
     pattern.
    
    If Seifer fought against Squall now, he would lose. 
    
    Squall was very good, as good as Seifer, and he trained
    
     like a demon on the days when he wasn't wrangling 
    
    paperwork. 
    
    Now that's one fight I'd like to be in on.
    
    Quistis' eyes tracked Seifer's moves, waiting for an 
    
    opening, trying to decipher some kind of pattern to his
    
     movements that she could predict. He wasn't trying yet,
    
     taking his usual one-handed attacking pose.  Testing her.
    
    Quistis had never yet failed a test.
    
    She fought with intense relentless concentration.
    
    Their duel continued, the rattle and clash of sticks 
    
    seeming to give way to the glide and crash of metal 
    
    on metal as the clumsy movements of too light-too 
    
    short weapons began not to matter and they both grew
    
     more used to the fake blades, more drawn into the duel.   
    
    So far it was a draw. Seifer's bruising enthusiasm Quistis
    
     put down to revenge.
    
    She managed a good couple of blows across his ribs that
    
     made him swear and double up but somehow still keep 
    
    hold of his weapon, and pursued her advantage, diving in
    
     for a poised overarm slash which snapped his stick in two.
    
     Seifer twisted and grabbed her sword hand's wrist in a
    
     move that would probably have taken his hand off if the
    
     sticks they were using had any kind of edge, wrenched it
    
     behind her back, sat on her spine and laid the snapped off
    
     edge of his stick along her throat with a mercurial grin.
    
    It prickled.
    
    Quistis ate sand. 
    
    "Get off!"
    
    "Give up?" She could hear the smile in his voice, though
    
     she couldn't see much of anything from behind a curtain
    
     of hair. 
    
    "You must…..." Her voice was muffled, behind sand and
    
     anger. She gritted her teeth, pissed off to the max.  This wasn't fair.
    
    "What?"
    
    "Be joking." Quistis arched her back enough to kick him
    
     on the back of the head, hard, with both feet and all the
    
     leverage she could manage. Seifer swore and released her.
    
     Quistis snatched his stick off him, grabbed hers up from
    
     the dune where it had fallen and kicked him as hard as she
    
     could in the stomach. It knocked Seifer flat in the sand.
    
     She brought both of the makeshift weapons arcing up to
    
     poke him in the ribs.
    
    "You were saying?"
    
    Winning felt good. 
    
    It always did.
    
    They were both messy, sweating and tired. Quistis could
    
     feel the itching rash on the back of her neck that meant
    
     she was going to be sunburned some time soon, but she
    
     didn't care.
    
    However, she should have remembered from past
    
     experience that you could put Seifer through a meat 
    
    grinder and what was left would still be trying to hack
    
     you off at the knees and you better not turn your back
    
     on it.  He just plain didn't know when to stop.
    
    Her victory was short-lived.
    
    Seifer kicked her in the ankles. Quistis' legs scythed
    
     out from under her and she fell heavily in the sand, 
    
    breath escaping from her in a pained whoosh.  Both 
    
    sticks flew from her hands. She swore internally and
    
     grabbed for anything she could catch.  Her fingers
    
     scraped through Seifer's hair and slid off without 
    
    catching a grip. She had better luck with a fistful of
    
     faded T shirt, which tore, all elegant balanced poise gone. 
    
     They traded punches and kicks, arms locked, each
    
     refusing to give up. There was no one much around,
    
     which was just as well. Quistis fought in silence but
    
     Seifer threw insults like grenades, when he had the
    
     breath.  
    
    The fight had turned into something with less finesse. 
    
    Most of their blows missed anyway, it was hard to
    
     keep your balance on the shifting dunes. 
    
    In the end, it was more or less equal. Seifer might
    
     have had the advantage in height and weight but 
    
    Quistis had the best part of a year's training on him
    
     and a cast-iron determination not to give up. 
    
    They fought over the dunes and up and down the 
    
    beach, all around the sand and fell still fighting
    
     down the sea-side of the nearest dune. Some time
    
     after the beginning of the fight they both wound
    
     up sprawled out, exhausted, on the packed wet
    
     sand left by the retreating ocean. 
    
    Quistis' hair looked like strange seaweed on the
    
     tideline. 
    
    Seifer swore and emptied pebbles from his jeans 
    
    pocket. He unlaced his boots, shook sand and tiny
    
     shells out of them and left them off, absently brushing
    
     sand from between his toes and then putting his feet
    
     right back on the beach again.
    
    A seagull called mocking laughter from above.
    
    Seifer shot a secret studied glance at Quistis as she
    
     shook sand out of her hair and spat it from her mouth.
    
    Her chest heaved. She looked a mess, clothes covered
    
     in dust, and he was aware that he must look almost as
    
     bad, if not worse. There were smudges of dirt on the
    
     bridge of her nose and cheekbones. With her face dirty
    
     and her blond hair snarled up she looked a completely
    
     different person from the polished and professional 
    
    soldier he'd known at Garden. 
    
    It had been..fun.
    
    "Truce? You know I'd beat you anyway."  He hunkered
    
     down by the high tide mark, cupping a handful of salt 
    
    water to rinse his face. It stung in his eyes and in a small
    
     cut on his face from the sticks or the knifelike grass that 
    
    grew all over the dunes.
    
    The next moment he was on his face in the surf, spitting 
    
    seawater. Time seemed to have folded. Quistis was trying
    
     her best to make his body do the same, on a mission to make
    
     him the first human pretzel.
    
    "Hyne, Quis, get off." His words choked out as the tide 
    
    came in and filled his face with seawater, stinging froth 
    
    in his eyes and nose. A rock in the sand pressed into his 
    
    cheekbone and that and the wake of a powerboat out on
    
     an early morning run into the bay made him think screw
    
     this for a game of soldiers. Enpretzeled. It should be a word.
    
    Seifer's tolerance level, never very high, nosedived,
    
     crashed, and burned. 
    
    "Quistis, get off. I'm fucking warning you." His tone 
    
    was, behind the sand, grudgingly approving. Her hand
    
     was at eye height, tendons standing out sharply, the 
    
    only bit of her he could see. It felt like she was kneeling
    
     on his back.  She probably was.
    
    Damn it, she must have caught bad habits from him. 
    
    Since when had perfect Quistis started to fight dirty?
    
    "Get off."
    
    No response. 
    
    Seifer waited until Quistis put one foot to the sand 
    
    to balance her weight, grabbed her ankle, simultaneously
    
     sat up and pulled at the same time.
    
    It wasn't really fair, but then that was tough shit.  
    
    Quistis landed in the surf two metres away. 
    
    Seifer gave her an evil grin and she said a word he hadn't
    
     known she knew. There was salt water dripping from her
    
     hair, which was laced with seaweed like a bargain 
    
    basement mermaid, if Quistis would ever have consented
    
     to be cheap. 
    
    She wrung it out and Seifer admired her from a distance.
    
    There were bruises on her arms and he felt vaguely guilty.
    
     There wasn't many situations that made him feel awkward,
    
     but when the choice was 'hit a girl hard or let her kick your 
    
    ass', well, he'd never liked losing. He could have gone for
    
     the 'amused tolerance' attitude, but Quistis punched hard.
    
    To be honest, there were bruises on his arms too. 
    
    "Don't think you're clever. I would have kicked your butt
    
     with my whip." She moved like she ached. Seifer knew 
    
    how she felt. There was sweat in his hair. The air was hot, 
    
    humid, and almost unbearably close.
    
    There was a little trickle of sea water running down 
    
    Quistis' back, just at the part where her top didn't quite
    
     meet her shorts.
    
    Seifer watched it with his eyes, sliding his gaze off to 
    
    stare at the sky as Quistis waded out of the surf and onto
    
     the shore. She gave him a shove as she passed, not hard,
    
     but it caught him off balance. He fell flat on his back in
    
     the sand and Quistis landed on top of him, her head on 
    
    his chest, driving the breath from his lungs and pressing 
    
    his shoulderblades back into the sand. She was warm 
    
    and heavy and smelled better than the beach.
    
    "Shit, I'm tired."
    
    "I know the feeling. Me, too."
    
    They both lay there for a minute, getting their breath 
    
    back. Seifer stretched and unconsciously replaced his
    
     hand on his chest. Quistis' head was in the way, so he
    
     placed his arm round her shoulders, possessively, 
    
    without thinking of anything. She brought her hand
    
     up to rest on his, small and calloused and paler 
    
    against his skin. Her breath stirred the soft hairs on
    
     his arm and raised dust from both their clothes.
    
    Quistis enjoyed the sun and let her mind drift. It was
    
     nice, comfortable, lazy, just lying there in the sand,
    
     letting her clothes dry out, with Seifer's arm 
    
    familiar around her.
    
    With Seifer's arm…
    
    Hang on..
    
    Oh…damn.
    
    She couldn't stop her body from tensing involuntarily.
    
     Seifer looked down at her, eyes half-closed, and then
    
     they widened. She noticed abstractly, that his eyelashes
    
     were very dark against his blond hair. He needed to shave.
    
    In the tense silence, something almost happened.
    
    It was like having a whole new possibility shown to
    
     her that she'd never before considered. As if she'd
    
     been trying to do something for hours, trying different
    
     ways to make it fit, and someone had come along and
    
     said 'hold it this side up'..
    
    Hyne.
    
    Seifer stared at her for a second as if she'd grown three
    
     heads. He jumped up fast, as if her body burned. 
    
    Quistis' head bounced off the sand. She got up, slowly, 
    
    and thought:  He feels it too. 
    
    There was an awkward silence. Quistis began to groom
    
     her hair back into some kind of order. Seifer retrieved
    
     his boots from the strand and pulled them roughly on.
    
    The silence between them solidified into an almost 
    
    physical barrier.
    
    Seifer grudgingly broke it. He flopped down on the 
    
    beach a few metres away and watched her like she 
    
    might explode. "You've got better."
    
    "Thanks. You haven't."
    
    He shrugged. "Can't practise. Good fight."
    
    Quistis sat down again, feeling pulled muscles, bruises.
    
     She watched the sea and brushed sand from her clothes.
    
     When she spoke, she didn't realise she'd said the words
    
     out loud. "I've got sand in my pants."
    
    Seifer laughed, watched Quistis' face redden into a blush
    
     and laughed harder. "Didn't it remind you of when we were
    
     little? I swear we used to fight with sticks like that. Used to
    
     fight with everything."
    
    Quistis frowned. The fight had rung a bell in the temple 
    
    of her mind, but it wasn't anything to do with the orphanage.
    
     "No. Don't you remember when we first joined and they 
    
    wouldn't let us have proper swords? Just wooden stuff to 
    
    practice with. The training guy, he used to say: 'There are 
    
    only three things you need to remember to be a soldier..one,
    
     don't get killed, two, give it to the enemy good and hard 
    
    and three, obey orders.'"
    
    "Hey, two out of three isn't bad."
    
    "Smartass. Don't say that like it's a good thing."
    
    "It was just a statement. You're too damn literal for your
    
     own good. And since when did you start to fight dirty,
    
     anyway?"
    
    "Since I realised who I was up against."
    
    " Right." Seifer sat up and ducked his head between his
    
     knees, running dirty hands through his bristle-cut hair
    
     in a vain attempt to dislodge sand. He looked at his watch.
    
     "You know, it's almost eleven. Want some breakfast?"
    
    Quistis shrugged. "Sounds good. I need to go and get my
    
     stuff. It's up in the dunes somewhere."
    
    Seifer blinked and looked around like he'd never seen the
    
     beach before in his life. "Good point. Just where the fuck
    
     are we anyway? Hyne, we must have fought for ages." He
    
     winced. "I need more practise."
    
    "We could do this again, sometimes.." Quistis said tentatively
    
    . She rubbed at her glasses with a thumb and then polished
    
     them on her shorts. One of the earpieces was slightly bent. 
    
    Seifer shrugged. "Why not? You're here for what, three
    
     weeks?"
    
    Quistis avoided commenting on possible future options.
    
    " I guess."
    
    "I'll beat you any time." Seifer levered himself off the
    
     sand and held out a hand, absently. Quistis ignored it.
    
    "Excuse me. I thought it was a draw."
    
    She brushed sand off the seat of her shorts.
    
    Seifer grinned, nastily. "You thought wrong, then"
    
    "So you're saying that I won?"
    
    "Piss  off, Trepe. The day I admit you can beat me.."
    
    "Will be the day you start being right."
    
    Seifer growled. "I really need to train more."
    
    "Haven't you done anything?"
    
    He shrugged as they both started up the dunes to 
    
    retrieve Quistis' bag. "A bit.  Pest extermination. 
    
    Nothing larger than," he held out a hand at shoulder height.
    
     "…..so big. Don't tell me, you've been battling 
    
    rigging Ruby Dragons every single day. I bet Leonhart
    
     can take six on at once, one handed, armed with nothing
    
     but a pencil and a wire coathanger. And he doesn't even
    
     boast. I think he talked to me more during the wars than
    
     he ever did at Garden. "  
    
    Quistis smiled. "It's always the quiet ones, trust me. 
    
     I'm one of the quiet ones." She picked up her bags,
    
     rifling through them to check her stuff.
    
    "It's never the quiet ones. You're just an exception. 
    
    I bet you don't even tell people who you are to get a
    
     good table in restaurants."
    
    "I don't have time to go to restaurants.""
    
    "You don't have time to do anything. You wouldn't do
    
     anything even if you had time."
    
    "I'm here, aren't I?"
    
    Seifer shut up. They were walking back along the dunes, 
    
    collecting a few funny looks from dog walkers. Quistis
    
     couldn't blame them. Seifer's T shirt was ripped at the
    
     hem, and her spectacles hung askew on her nose. 
    
    She cursed whatever gods had seen fit to give her less
    
     than perfect vision and piled her hair up as she walked,
    
     reached for her watch from the bag and slipped it on. A
    
     thought struck her, gently.
    
    "What happened to your necklace?"
    
    Seifer shrugged, expressively. "I sold it. Ages ago, before
    
     I even saw you in Trabia. It got in the way. Jewelry shines.
    
     It makes noises. It didn't mean anything, before you ask.
    
     I just wore it because I liked it."
    
    "Oh."
    
    "Don't your glasses get in the way? You should wear
    
     contacts."  He scratched the scar between his eyes
    
     irritably.
    
    Quistis suppressed a shiver. Honestly. Half of the time
    
     she assumed Seifer was as insensitive as a brick and
    
     then he'd come out with something so close to what
    
     she had been thinking it was creepy. It made her wonder,
    
     sometimes, just how alike they really were. 
    
    "Not really."     
    
    She squashed the thought. The day she admitted she had
    
     anything in common with Seifer Almasy was the day..
    
    well, it would be a day to remember, than was for sure. 
    
    They reached the boardwalk. The dunes stretched on
    
     for miles behind them, people just starting to unroll
    
     towels, beach umbrellas and windbreaks on the beach.
    
     Seifer felt in his pocket for cigarettes and lighter, 
    
    cupped them in his hands against the wind and lit up.
    
     The early-morning breeze carried the smoke away 
    
    behind them in an almost horizontal line, and made
    
     Quistis cough. 
    
    He didn't take any notice.
    
    She coughed again, pointedly, gave up and changed
    
    sides so she was walking closer to the shops.
    
    Seifer was watching the daytrippers. "Look at them.
    
     They've got more crap just for a day on the beach 
    
    than I own." He pointed to a family busily erecting
    
     a striped piece of canvas on poles. "What's that for?"
    
    Quistis shaded her eyes with one hand and leaned
    
     across him. Quistis Trepe, the Portable Encyclopaedia.
    
     "Windbreak. Haven't you seen them before?"
    
    Seifer shook his head. "Damn, if it's that windy, 
    
    what's the point of being on the beach in the first
    
     place?"
    
    Quistis shrugged, and then noticed something. 
    
    "Where are we going?"
    
    "You want breakfast? I've got food at my place.
    
     It's not far." 
    
    Quistis thought about pointing out that she got 
    
    breakfast free with her room at the hotel, but she'd
    
     be damned if she was taking Seifer in there.  She
    
     was just on the point of refusing, anyway, when he
    
     added, watching her closely "I've got coffee."
    
    Quistis surrendered. "Go on then."
    
     Hynedammit. But she needed coffee. Medically
    
     needed coffee. It wasn't good to have people know
    
     about your weaknesses. She seemed to remember
    
     Seifer drinking coffee too, or at least she'd never
    
     imagine there was a stimulant he hadn't tried. If
    
     it could screw up your body or mess with her head,
    
     she was willing to bet that Seifer had done it. 
    
    The strongest stimulant Quistis had dabbled in was
    
     caffeine pills: invaluable for those late night pre-exam
    
     study sessions. And then only in moderation. She
    
     preferred her caffeine in liquid form. "What kind
    
     of coffee?"
    
    "Dunno. It's freeze dried stuff. Looks like someone
    
     ate gravel and then got real sick." 
    
    "Brand?"
    
    Seifer shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm not trying to
    
     poison you."
    
    Quistis rested her palm on her forehead. She 
    
    considered trying to tell Seifer about Java and
    
     Colombian, about cafietieres and bean grinders
    
     and china mugs and cold milk, and the minor 
    
    miracle that was one really good, really perfect cup
    
     of coffee, but as always she had a nasty feeling 
    
    that it was going to go in one ear and out the other.
    
     And they were nearly at the pile of wood he currently
    
     called home, or any number of four letter words,
    
     knowing Seifer's descriptive powers. "No."
    
    Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
    
    Seifer's house didn't look any better in broad daylight.
    
      The only difference was a small and battered car 
    
    parked near the second flight of stairs.
    
    Quistis pointed. "That's yours?"
    
    "Like I could afford a car. It's the old woman's that
    
     lives in the other flat. I think I scare her."  He finished
    
     the cigarette and spat it into a clump of nettles 
    
    growing in the scraggly vacant lot next door.
    
    "Don't tell me you're not flattered." Quistis followed
    
     Seifer up the steps. "I feel sorry for her."
    
    "I feel sorry for your husband. If you get one."
    
    "I feel sorry for you. Oh wait, I don't."
    
    "You want coffee or not?"
    
    What a stupid question. "I always want coffee."
    
    "I forgot. You're the world's original caffeine addict.
    
     And you say I'm bad." Seifer grinned and kicked the
    
     door shut, pulling his packet of Lucky Strikes from
    
     his jeans pocket. Quistis hit him, not gently, and he
    
     bent over, coughing. "If you're not very nice, I won't
    
     make you a drink."
    
    "I'll make it myself."
    
    "Like you know where it is. Hyne, I didn't take that
    
     as an invitation to go through my cupboards."
    
    Quistis glanced up from rifling through the fishbox
    
     cabinet standing beside the tiny fridge. "Seifer, you
    
     have one. One cupboard. Singular, not plural."
    
    "Yeah, yeah."
    
    She ignored him on her Epic Quest For Coffee. In fact,
    
     she didn't even need to look for it, the jar was right there
    
     on the top, but its contents seemed to have welded itself
    
     together. 
    
    Quistis prodded at it with a spoon, carefully, like it might
    
     explode, and then resorted to chipping flakes off the lump
    
     with a knife. She emptied a mug full of cigarette butts
    
     and poured herself a cup. Usually she would never have
    
     considered using dirty crockery, but desperate situations
    
     called for desperate remedies. She hadn't had a drink
    
     for at least four hours. Things were reaching crisis point. 
    
    She looked round for Seifer, so she could refuse to
    
     make him one, but he was hunting through his pockets,
    
     a cigarette held loosely between his teeth.
    
    "Damn. Quistis, seen my lighter?"
    
    "Wouldn't tell you if I had"
    
    "Look, I need nicotine. You wouldn't like me when
    
     I can't smoke."
    
    "I don't like you anyway." Quistis sat down on the
    
     floor, cradling her coffee. Two seconds later she gave
    
     the carpet a distasteful glance and got up to perch on
    
     the flat's only chair. It creaked, dangerously, and
    
     bent in the middle. "Didn't you just have your lighter?"
    
    Seifer flicked the flint a few times with a dirty fingernail.
    
     "It's run out. My spare one went in the river yesterday.
    
     Fuck. I'm going to the shop. You all right here?"
    
    "Is there any chance the stuff in the fridge has
    
     developed sentient life?"
    
    "Probably not."
    
    "Then I'm fine." The coffee was steaming up her
    
     glasses. Quistis industriously polished them on 
    
    her T shirt.
    
    Seifer gave her a long, hard look and stalked out,
    
     slamming the door behind him. Quistis heard his
    
     footsteps slamming down the metal steps outside,
    
     and then silence. 
    
    Right.
    
    She knelt down, gingerly, feeling the rubber soles
    
     of her shoes tug at the sticky disgusting carpet, and
    
     tugged cautiously at the nearest pile of books 
    
    There weren't a lot of them, but there were enough to
    
     make her wonder exactly what Seifer was doing with
    
     them. Call her nosy, and yeah, suspicious, but if he was
    
     reading 'The  Idiot's Guide To Evil' of 'How To Raise
    
     An Army in Ten Easy Steps' or even, say, a perfectly
    
     ordinary text about making homemade bombs out of a
    
     coffee can of nails and flour and household fertiliser she
    
     was going to feel damn well vindicated.  Vindicated
    
     and pissed off or else angry and disappointed, like
    
     knowing an alcoholic that had just fallen off the wagon.
    
    Quistis tugged the nearest text to her and pushed her
    
     glasses up her nose with one finger.
    
    It wasn't a book, but rather a thin journal that looked
    
     horribly technical. It practically made Quistis's 
    
    knowledge-starved brain salivate. 
    
    Finally.  Something to think about.
    
    She read the first three pages without stopping,
    
     flicked through to the illustrations, turned the journal
    
    upside down, scowling, and then flipped it right way up
    
     as she paged slowly through the rest of the article. 
    
    A small frown gradually appeared between her eyes,
    
     under the glasses.
    
    One paragraph in particular caught her attention. The
    
     page had been bookmarked with a scrap of cigarette 
    
    paper reading 'uck S trikes'. It slowly floated to the 
    
    carpet between Quistis' pristine trainers, where it stuck.
    
    " the relationship of a Sorceress and her Knight is of
    
     particular interest. ..
    
    Scan.
    
    ….all seem to involve a psychological bond of unusual
    
     intensity.
    
    Scan.
    
     ………possible that such individuals would suffer 
    
    severe mental disturbance 
    
    Damn. 
    
    Psychological disturbances? What the hell's that 
    
    supposed to mean? 
    
    From the tone of the article it could be anything from
    
     wandering round wearing your underpants on the outside
    
     and fighting crime to screaming fruit loops certifiable
    
     insanity.  
    
    In contrast Seifer so far had seemed almost scarily 
    
    normal. For a given value of normal, anyway, though
    
     she knew Seifer well enough by now to realise that if
    
     there really was something seriously wrong he'd never
    
     admit it. 
    
    Quistis flicked through the rest of the books, blowing
    
     fag-ash and grime off the covers. Wilted scraps of
    
     newspaper and cardboard marked a few pages, and
    
     a quick glance at the inside front liners showed that
    
     nearly all were overdue. There were all kinds of books,
    
     a few more crumpled paper journals, paperback and
    
     hardbacks and one big old leather tome with studs
    
     embossing the cover. All reference books, all mentioning
    
     the sorceresses, all worrying. 
    
    Quistis flicked through the first one, gave up and 
    
    rested her fist on her chin, scowling at nothing. 
    
    She didn't know when exactly it had happened, 
    
    but it was becoming harder and harder to actually
    
     believe that she was going to turn Seifer in. It wasn't
    
     going to make things any better, and the truce 
    
    between the Gardens was an awkward thing at best.
    
     The wars were fading slightly from everyone's memory,
    
    accelerated in some cases by GFs and more immediate
    
     problems. Yesterday's news, bleeding from a damp 
    
    newspaper left in a puddle. 
    
    Balamb couldn't afford a rerun, financially or politically.
    
     She didn't need graphs or six colours of highlighters 
    
    to realise that.
    
    Despite the books, she didn't have the heart to do it. 
    
    Didn't they say let sleeping dogs lie? 
    
    She ran through questions in her mind. 
    
    Was Seifer a danger to Garden? If no one noticed him-
    
     and that was a big if-probably not. She didn't think 
    
    he was going to try anything on his own.
    
    Was everyone going to blame her or Garden if he 
    
    went postal and screwed up again? Was he going 
    
    to go postal and screw up again?
    
    There was the noise of footsteps scrunching across
    
     the vacant lot next to the shop and boots clanking
    
     up the stairs.
    
    Speak of the devil.
    
    Seifer fought the door open and dropped a carrier bag
    
     on the floor.
    
    Quistis decided, unwisely, to go in for the kill. "Seifer,
    
     what is with you and the sorceresses?"
    
    "What the fuck are you going through my stuff for?"
    
     The scowl between Seifer's eyes deepened, outlining the scar.
    
    "Don't try to change the subject."
    
    "I asked. You. A. Question." He slammed the door shut
    
     as a full stop.
    
    Quistis refused to feel guilty. "So did I!"
    
    "Since when have SeeD cared about what I prop my
    
     table up with?" He kicked the pile of books out from
    
     under the table, watching them fan drunkenly across
    
     the floor as the table sagged towards the floor.  
    
    Quistis caught a sliding mug in one hand. "I can't 
    
    remember the actual words… Oh, yeah. 'I'll be Edea's
    
     bloodhound and hunt down every one of your kind?' It's
    
     not over, Seifer. It's never over. Why are you reading all
    
     this stuff?"
    
    You're not the only person who wants to know what the hell
    
     went down during the wars, you know." There was something
    
     behind the anger, this time, embarrassment, maybe, or shame,
    
     though Quistis wouldn't have bet on either.
    
    She shrugged. "I don't. Enlighten me."
    
    "Look, I told you, I just want to be forgotten. You'd think
    
     being dead'd make you leave me the hell alone."
    
    Quistis tucked her legs underneath her, trying to keep most
    
     of her clothes from touching the floor. "I talked to Edea."
    
     He froze for a second. "So what?"
    
    "So I told you she's not right."
    
    Seifer slid down the wall, ending up in an untidy sprawl 
    
    with his back to the wall.  He stubbed his cigarette out on
    
     the carpet, which hissed and smoked. "I'm as sane as I ever
    
     was. What's the matter with her?"
    
    "Define 'as sane as you ever were.' That is not a reassurance.
    
      As sane as when?"
    
    He slouched. "Whenever."
    
    "You're not being helpful." 
    
    "Wouldn't want to break a habit of a lifetime."
    
    Quistis sighed and decided to speak bluntly. Seifer 
    
    understood blunt. "Edea's retired. Cid's with her. She
    
     gets weird visions and dreams and sometimes she goes
    
     places and she can't ever remember getting there. It 
    
    worries me. You?"   
    
     "Nope. No people in my head. No little blue pixies telling
    
     me to kill them all. No sorceress voices. No weird phobias
    
     or anything. But I dunno. I'm getting this weird sense of
    
     something." He folded his arms on his knees and stared
    
     malevolently at her over the top of his elbows.
    
    "What? Don't you remember anything? It won't help you
    
     in court."
    
    "Anger. That's it, I'm absolutely fucking furious. Trepe, I 
    
    just don't work you out. Since I saw you in that damn forest
    
     you've done nothing but ask me what I thought about the wars.
    
     Well, so what? Maybe what I think doesn't matter anymore.
    
     I lost, remember. I'm dead. That's it. Over. Do you want me
    
     to say I'm sorry? That I can't stop thinking about what I did?
    
     Well here's a news flash for you, I don't even remember half
    
     of it and the half I do remember is only because you won't
    
     bloody let me forget. Running away didn't work so I stopped.
    
     I'm just trying not existing. You're all 'Oh, I'm not pressing
    
     charges, you should be so grateful' and then you're almost damn
    
     normal and then you go and say something like that? I 
    
    shouldn't have even thought you were, hell, I don't know,
    
     regular. I thought I had a chance. Fine.  Just go running back
    
     to Squall and tell him I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I 
    
    just don't care. " He reached for another cigarette, lit up and
    
     watched the reflection of the flame in her glasses. 
    
    "I'm not."
    
     "Normal?"    
    
    "Right, but no. I'm not going to report you. I'm not going
    
     to tell Garden you're here. Don't ask me why. I might 
    
    change my mind."
    
    He watched her, expressionless. The only movement in the
    
     room was the smoke of his cigarette floating up towards the
    
     ceiling. "Don't expect me to thank you."
    
    "I wasn't."
    
    "Good."
    
    But maybe you should think about going back yourself."
    
    "You're shitting me."
    
    "And you're bothered enough about the wars to get a whole
    
     load of books and do some serious research. There's something.
    
     Quit that whole 'I don't have a problem' attitude. It's not fooling anyone."
    
    Seifer sat and smoked in silence.
    
    "I don't know what it is and I'm not even bothering to ask
    
     because I know you won't tell me. Just something to think
    
     about. Carefully. This is all I'm going to say. The wars
    
     are over. Just leave it at that, now let us never speak of
    
     this again."
    
    The noises of the street drifted into the quiet room, the
    
     hum of air conditioning, the growl of cars, the howls 
    
    of small children denied that last candyfloss and the noise
    
     of more normal conversations.
    
    Seifer swiped the mug from Quistis' knee and flicked 
    
    cigarette ash into it. He hooked the carrier bag closer with
    
     his boot and rifled through it, pulling out another disposable
    
     lighter, this one red, a newspaper and some squashed bread.
    
     Without moving, he threw the bread at the kitchen worksurface,
    
     tossed the paper to Quistis and rested his elbows on his
    
     knees again, sucking in deep drags from the cigarette and
    
     staring meditatively at the floor. 
    
    Quistis didn't say anything, leafing through the papers.
    
     The anti-Garden debate in the letters column was becoming
    
     more heated, there was a pork roast to celebrate some little
    
     girl getting a new kidney, and the beach had banned dog-
    
    walking. 
    
    When she looked up, Seifer had picked the empty carrier bag
    
     up from the floor and was reading the back. He turned it
    
     to her. 
    
    "I'm pissed off and tired and I really feel like shooting
    
     something. Want to come?"
    
    Quistis held a hand out for the bag.  On closer inspection
    
     it featured an advert for the same shooting range she'd
    
     visited earlier in the week.
    
    "Okay."
    
    "I'm not making you."
    
    "You couldn't."
    
    "You cheated."
    
    "Didn't you always tell me fighting dirty wasn't a
    
     bad thing?"
    
    "I wasn't criticising."
    
    They bickered out of the door and down the street.  
    
    After an afternoon of sanctioned virtual murder, Seifer
    
     was in a slightly better mood.
    
    Quistis noted carefully that he was still a damn good 
    
    shot, and filed the knowledge away in her mind for further
    
     reference.  She'd spent the time shooting carefully aligned
    
     holes into the heart, head, and, in at least one case, groin
    
     of the paper targets.
    
    As a stress release, it worked wonders. 
    
    Quistis was all worn out as they wandered back down the
    
     road to Seifer's flat. The sun was setting, and she felt tired,
    
     yet happy.
    
    Amazing what a little target practice could do. 
    
    Seifer also looked in a better mood than before. This abruptly
    
     changed as he noticed the large crowd occupying the
    
     vacant lot next to his house.
    
    "Shit, it's like there was a damn car crash or something." 
    
    He shouldered past the people. 
    
    Quistis carefully checked out the expressions on the faces
    
     of the group, feeling her hand drift towards a non-existent
    
     whip. There was always the faint chance that the crowd
    
     was a mob in the best, flaming-torches and pitchfork-
    
    carrying sense, but she didn't think so. There was liquor
    
     in abundance, but it wasn't the hard aggressive drinking
    
     of people psyching themselves up to do an anticipated
    
     but dangerous job. There appeared to be a street party
    
     going on. 
    
    She pushed through the crowds after Seifer.
    
    He was standing no, leaning, against the peeling corner 
    
    of the building with his hands in is pockets, silhouetted 
    
    against the blaze. The fire cast shadows across his face 
    
    and made his eyes look very green as he turned to face her.
    
    Apparently someone had through it would be a good idea
    
     to build a bonfire in the vacant lot next to the house. 
    
    The fire was huge and stank of petrol, mingling with the 
    
    scent of hash and woodsmoke and sweat.  
    
    Somewhere in the crowd someone was playing a guitar, 
    
    badly. 
    
    Although his flat was in imminent danger of combustion, 
    
    Seifer didn't appear bothered. 
    
    Quistis reached him. The fire was raging and she could 
    
    feel the heat in the roots of her hair and on her face. It hit 
    
    hard, like a blow. "Your stuff could catch on fire."
    
    "There's not much I'm bothered about." He watched the
    
     smoke, absently. It reminded Quistis that Seifer had 
    
    always favoured Fire variants. 
    
    In front of him, a small child toasted marshmallows, 
    
    oblivious of the heat. 
    
    Seifer stared into the fire without saying anything, like
    
     it held the answer to the meaning of life. It was a few 
    
    minutes before he turned to her and said. "Want to go
    
    upstairs, get a cool beer?"
    
    "I don't drink."
    
    "I'll have a beer. You can have…whatever shit people
    
     who don't drink have." He threw the keys up in the air
    
     and caught them behind his back.
    
    The keys reminded Quistis that she should be getting 
    
    back to her hotel room. It was getting late.
    
    Her lonely, boring hotel room.
    
    She shrugged. "Might as well."
    
    They climbed above the crowd and Quistis watched
    
     their heads as Seifer wrestled with the keys. There
    
     were all kinds of people, musicians strumming guitars
    
     with more enthusiasm than talent, bored teens throwing
    
     things into the fire and watching them explode and vendors
    
     hawking snacks and small flashing things on sticks.
    
    The room smelled of woodsmoke and ash, which was
    
     an improvement on socks and mould.
    
    Seifer shoved open the window and grabbed a beer from
    
     the cooler. "What'd you want?"
    
    Quistis wasn't in the mood for coffee, for once. "What
    
     have you got?"
    
    "Beer."
    
    "Apart from beer."
    
    "Milk….oh wait, it went off. Water." He twisted a tap. 
    
    "And……water." 
    
    The water from the tap was sluggish and brown. Quistis 
    
    was on the verge of passing and heading back to the 
    
    Traveller's Rest when Seifer triumphantly produced a 
    
    carton of warm orange juice from the back of one of
    
     his fishbox cabinets. "Orange okay?"  
    
    "I guess." 
    
    Quistis swung her legs over the sill and sat down. 
    
    Seifer handed her the carton of orange and settled 
    
    beside her with a beer. 
    
    The squash was a strange and unnatural shade of well,
    
    orange. Bright, bright orange. It tasted like plastic. 
    
    Quistis was faintly worried by this. She shook the carton
    
     questioningly at Seifer. "It isn't ..toxic?"
    
    He gave her am amused grin. "Come on. I'm not 
    
    trying to poison you."
    
    " Everything's a poison. " Quistis spoke absently. 
    
    "Including water. If you drink, say fifteen pints."
    
    Seifer gave her a strange look. "I'll keep that in mind."
    
     He shifted uncomfortably on the sill, sending a slate
    
     cascading off the tiled porch roof to land on the ground
    
     below. Miraculously, no one noticed. 
    
    Having too much fun, Quistis guessed.
    
    Despite the sun and the night and the fire and the general
    
     air of hedonism, she felt uncharacteristically depressed.
    
     She rested her palm on her hand and stared out over 
    
    the crowd, feeling like she hadn't been invited. She 
    
    could go down, but she'd probably still feel like a 
    
    gatecrasher. Doomed to watch, as always, with that one
    
     little voice observing everything and making sarcastic
    
     little observations in the privacy of her brain. Aloof.  
    
    Alone.
    
    Well, there was always Seifer, but he wasn't being 
    
    very good company sitting silently beside her and 
    
    smoking his lungs out.
    
    Her spectacles wouldn't straighten and this was obscurely
    
     annoying. Quistis twisted them in her hands.
    
    Seifer hiked one leg up onto the sill beside her and sat 
    
    hugging his knee. "All right, Trepe?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Bollocks." Seifer reached a hand out for her spectacles, 
    
    capturing them in between Quistis's next swig of fake 
    
    orange juice, and bent them carefully back into shape. He
    
     handed them back to her without a word. "We can go 
    
    down if you want."
    
    "I'm okay."  
    
    The sun was setting, spectacularly orange and red. It lit
    
     the houses and the faces of the revellers below with a
    
     gruesome red tint that did nothing to help Quistis's 
    
    increasingly morbid mood. It looked like blood.
    
    She wondered how many of the people partying below
    
     her would have survived their first year as a SeeD and
    
     then unsuccessfully tried to banish the thought.
    
    It wouldn't go.
    
    She wondered if Seifer was thinking the same thing. He
    
     was scowling absently at the sunset, and occasionally 
    
    his right hand would come up to scratch his scar.
    
    If you added it up, how many people had SeeD killed? 
    
    Was it more than the people below them? Less? Was that
    
     better, or worse? How many people had the man sitting 
    
    behind her right now added to that total?
    
    The metallic taste of the orange was bitter as blood.
    
    Did it matter?
    
    She asked the question anyway, realising that they'd both
    
     been sitting in silence for some time. "How many people
    
     did you kill?"
    
    "Do lawyers count?"
    
    "Yes. Accountants don't, however. Seriously."
    
    He shrugged" Five. Six, if you count the asshole that 
    
    mugged me in Marduk." The smoke from his cigarette
    
     drifted up between them like a wall. Quistis had a sudden
    
     feeling that she was standing on the edge of a very high 
    
    precipice, but she asked the question anyway. 
    
    "Doesn't it bother you?"
    
    Seifer shrugged again, obviously uncomfortable with the
    
     direction her questioning was taking, They were huddled
    
     together, watching the sparks from the burning pyre float
    
     up into the air, and she could feel the muscles of his arm
    
     move against her as he shifted. "Yeah. Sometimes. But 
    
    shit happens. How many people died because of you?"
    
    "That's different. On a military operation, we go in, take
    
     out the bad guys and make the world a better place. We 
    
    don't murder. ." 
    
    Quistis wished it was that straightforward. 
    
    SeeD was about the best mercenary company out there,
    
     and each mission was rigorously checked before cadets 
    
    were dispatched. She wouldn't have stayed with Garden 
    
    if it had been anything else.  But, sometimes…there had 
    
    been cases, though less than she could count with the fingers
    
     of one full hand, where they'd been deceived. Innocent 
    
    people had died, or they'd had to sacrifice a few to save 
    
    many. 
    
    Quistis hoped that she was never in that kind of situation
    
     and added "Mostly."
    
    They both ducked as a huge insect bumbled in out of
    
     the dark, heading for the bare lightbulb with a happy
    
     suicidal drone. 
    
    "Is it? Sure, that's what you'd like to think. But, fuck it, 
    
    what you do right now isn't so much different from what
    
     I was doing back then. I mean, you've got to piss people
    
     off a lot for them to pay someone to take you out, and
    
     you don't do that by being a fucking singing nun. People
    
     I got, they just pissed off some rich guy. People you get,
    
     they pissed off a whole country."
    
    The comment stung her. " Since when did you grow a
    
     conscience?"
    
    "I'm not saying it's not the right thing to do. 
    
     "So what are you saying?" Seifer was arguing morals
    
     against her and he wasn't wrong? History was being made.
    
    Seifer shook his head, barely visible in the gathering dusk
    
     except for the glowing ash that tipped his cigarette.  
    
    "Bullshit. Just forget it, right?"
    
    "You took the words right out of my mouth.."
    
    "I'm just saying you're not that much different from me.
    
     Look, what do you think would have happened if I hadn't
    
     been there? You were there in the square. How the hell can
    
     you think that one of you wouldn't have gone with her. What
    
    about Leonhart? What about that Galbadian cowboy? Zell,
    
     he never had the brains of a canary. What about you?"
    
    "Not voluntarily."
    
    He laughed, a half bitter, half humorous sound.  "You
    
     wouldn't have had much choice. Believe me. "
    
    "Let's talk about something else." Far below, some kids
    
     were letting off fireworks, happily noisy. Quistis wiped
    
     the glass clean with her shirt and poured herself some
    
     more orange juice.  
    
     "Sure." Seifer hooked his legs back over the sill, crossed
    
     the room and flipped the cooler open, a dark shadow in
    
     a greying twilight room He waved a can at her. "Want another beer?"
    
    "Not even tempted."
    
    "Oh, I'm not bothered. More for me."
    
    Someone had turned a radio on and music mingled with the
    
     crackle of flames and conversation. The fire was beginning
    
     to die down, but the party was still going strong.
    
    Seifer coughed and kicked his empty beer can off the
    
     roof, followed by the glowing cigarette butt. There
    
     was an annoyed shout from below. "Want to go down
    
     yet?"
    
    "Not really. I think I see that religious nut handing out
    
     leaflets." Quistis poked her head out over the veranda.
    
     It was hard to see in the dusk, figures blending into black
    
     leaping shadows against the flames, but there seemed to
    
     be a vague Brownian motion around one particular silhouette.
    
     "As long as it makes him happy. It's just so irrational." 
    
    "Don't tell me you've got religion.?"
    
    "Doesn't make sense."  
    
    "Right. I never got those commandments bollocks. Isn't one
    
     of them 'thou shalt not kill?'"
    
    Quistis smiled, slightly. "I believe so."
    
    Seifer gave her his familiar shit-eating grin "Not buying,
    
     thanks."
    
    They watched the glowing sparks of the fire go swirling past
    
     the window. It was hot, even with the constant hum of the
    
     now-working air conditioner. The little drifts of ash looked
    
     like feathers. 
    
    Quistis reached out and caught one in her palm. It crumbled
    
     to nothing as she closed her fist slightly to hold it, leaving
    
     nothing but a dark smudge on her fair skin to show where
    
     it had been. 
    
    References:
    
    Wow. Lots of reviews. Thanks d00ds. My ego has been well
    
     massaged. On a slightly less gloaty note; I'm now twenty two.
    
    God, that's old.
    
     I always assumed I'd grow out of fanstuff. 
    
    I haven't, obviously. This is slightly worrying.   
    
    The beach fight was loosely inspired by Crouching Tiger,
    
     Hidden Dragon. Quistis is a lot like Jen, though of course
    
     she has no comb. The quote about the things you need to
    
     be a soldier is nicked from Terry Pratchett's Monstrous
    
     Regiment, a brilliant satire on life, gender roles and what
    
     it means to have people shooting at you for a living. The
    
     Moomba Scouts are borrowed from Altol. I hope that's
    
     okay, d00d.
    
    Reviews:
    
    Acacia3 (flattered!) Amber Tinted (guest appearances
    
     are coming up.) breaker-one (the Princess Bride rocks!)
    
     Auronzlah (glad you like it) Dalpal (as promised. Heh. 
    
    Just wait.) DBZ Fanfiction Queen (although neither of 
    
    them will admit it, the duel was of course a draw) Fantasy
    
     Wolf (I got the bullet quote from somewhere else, but
    
     I changed it round a bit. I can't remember where, and 
    
    this is what gets me into trouble) Ghost 140 (good luck
    
     with your football.-but England won the rugby!  Who
    
     needs all that padding? Not us!) nynaeve77 (Neil Gaiman
    
     is cool. Seifer's bookshelf closely reflects mine, though
    
     I admit that I have a great loathing for Laurell K Hamilton.
    
     I got the quote from a magazine review cause it made
    
     me crack up) ManaAngel (I update fortnightly. And
    
     my smut does not require eyeforks, I promise you.) 
    
    Mitsuki Hoshiko (what is that magazine? Seifer is 
    
    indeed a pervert. He's also a mass murderer, an 
    
    alcoholic and a terminal nicotine addict. What exactly
    
     was your point?:D.  Oh yeah, I got the Poe album for
    
     my birthday. Tis good.) Quistis88 (I have no idea 
    
    about the html. This one is fine. I blame the demons
    
     in my hard drive) seatbelts (hey d00ds.You crack me
    
     up.  What are you on and where can I get some?) 
    
    superviolinist (thanks:D I find that deeply ironic, but
    
     more on that some other time.)  and The Finely Tuned
    
     Fiend (The humor's mature? Well, there's no breast jokes,
    
     I think.Yet.)
    
    kate
    
    (link of the week is felaxx. com, my latest obsession.
    
     Her webcomic Reman Mythology and its short sidestory
    
     Exile From Kiirs are both really good. They have evil
    
     munchkins and everything. Short people kick butt!) 


	6. Chapter Six: This Lovely View

Chapter Six: This Lovely View.

Scar tissue that I wish you saw

Sarcastic mister know-it-all

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 

'cause with these birds I'll share this lonely view

Red Hot Chilli Peppers: Scar Tissue

There is NO hope. I'm writing fanfiction smut. Fansmut.

Grrr. Argh.

This chapter is shorter than usual, but it also contains 

more naked people. I'm hoping you find that a good 

exchange. Nothing explicit: the rating's still a strong 

PG-13. If you have a problem with this, please don't 

read. I refuse to be blamed for undoing your years of 

therapy.

Still here? 

Then onto the fic. 

Quistis finished her carton of orange and set it neatly 

down on the sill. She steepled her hands and checked

her watch.

It wasn't late.

Below them the party had started to get more incoherent,

 though it still sounded happy. Voices were singing

 drunkenly round the fire, accompanied by more 

off-key guitar music. It was a song about string. More

 accurately, it was a song about a girl, a sailor, a string

and precious little else, including clothes.

She adjusted her glasses automatically. There was a little

 kink in the metal where Seifer had straightened them for

 her. Quistis took them off and turned them over and over

 in her hands, running her finger over the join.

You could hardly tell it was there. He'd done a good job.

_For once._

She'd half expected her glasses to snap in Seifer's hands.

The man had his own special brand of anarchic entropy 

that he seemed to carry round like other people wore 

deodorant.  But no, they were just fine.

He could do _one_ thing well, at least…

Quistis thought for a second, added 'fighting' as a second

 item to her mental list and then had to stop herself from 

wondering what else Seifer did well.

She sighed in irritation, quashed the thought and readjusted

 her glasses on her nose, staring calmly out at the scene below. 

Beside her Seifer finished his latest cigarette and flicked

 the butt onto the roof. It rolled down the tiles and onto the

 ground below, showering glowing sparks as it went like

 a miniature version of the sparklers people were handing

 out round the bonfire.

Quistis waited for screams, but none came. 

Thankfully she stretched her hand out to catch another

 soft flake of ash. It reminded her of Rinoa and her 

feathers, in some ways.

Seifer shifted, bringing both feet down to slam on the tiles.

 Quistis was rather uncomfortably conscious that the 

windowsill, like everything in the flat, wasn't over-large. 

_Except for the ego of its tenant, _she thought sourly.__

Her hip bumped his, their ankles almost touching on the

 roof. He smelled of smoke and sun.

She closed her fist, crushing the tiny ash feather into 

her palm.

Seifer followed her hand with his eyes. "It's like Rinoa.

 Them bloody feathers." 

Quistis considered Rinoa. "I guess." _At least she doesn't_

_ moult at will._  

"You think it'd have been different if I hadn't met her?"

"Maybe. If Rinoa hadn't come to Garden then she wouldn't

 have asked Cid for help. And if she hadn't done that 

then Squall wouldn't have gone to Timber. _He_ wouldn't

have met her."

"And…" Seifer said slowly. "..then I wouldn't have held 

Deling at gunpoint."

"That wasn't your best idea."

"I wasn't thinking." He kicked at the tiles. 

"You could tell." Quistis could feel the muscles in his leg

 move, under the jeans. She tried to move, but there wasn't

 really anywhere else to go, except inside.  The most worrying

 thing was that she didn't mind.

This concerned her. 

"Dammit. If I hadn't met Rinoa then Squall might still have

 won, but at least he'd be single."

"Without Rinoa we might have lost."

"Might have…." Seifer drank more beer, scowling at Quistis,

 the beer and the happy people below.  

Quistis had a thought. "Hyne, if you'd been better at fighting

 you might have killed Squall."

Seifer scowled at her. "Bloody hell. Thanks. You're wasting

 your time. Even if I did jump off the roof, I'd only break my legs." 

"I'm only trying to make you feel better."

"Why? Listen, don't bother. I was okay before."

Quistis wondered, indeed, why she was bothering. "If you 

hadn't been pushing at Squall all the time in Garden, he might

 have failed. We might all be speaking Galbadian now and 

Edea might still be possessed."

His scowl deepened. "I liked your first idea better. That's never

 going to work. 'Oh, thanks for screwing us over, 'cause if you

 hadn't it might not have worked out the way it did.'" The 

bitterness in his voice could have soured Quistis' juice.       

The singing below had changed into a slower, more maudlin tune.

 Quistis tapped her fingers along with the rhythm and felt 

vaguely awkward. 

_"…..I spent my whole life out there on the sea_

_…some government bastard now takes it from me…"_

Seifer blinked. "Nice."

She shrugged. "You were fishing. They're not happy?" 

"No one's happy."

"Call no man happy, until he is dead." Quistis quoted.

"You were dead. You didn't look all that happy."

She shook her head. "No. It's some old classical author. 

It means you can't weigh up someone's life and decide 

whatever they really were until they're dead."

"Thanks for the pep talk, but I'm not in the bloody mood."

There was a long silence, and this time it really was quiet. The 

singing had stopped down below as the evening at last began to

 cool down. It _was_ late, now. The rising night wind coming off

 the sea ruffled Quistis' hair and flapped the ragged curtains 

around them both.

She spat hair from her mouth and began to think that she really

 should be getting back. It was a beautiful night, now that most

 of the crowd had left. By the embers of the bonfire someone

was still practicing a guitar.

From the sound, they needed the practice.

Seifer smiled evilly at her, picked up his last empty beer can

 and threw it.

He really was a very good shot. 

"_Ouch!_" There was the sound of a young, female voice

 swearing from below, followed by the crunching of feet

 across the vacant lot and then silence.

Seifer stretched. Quistis gave him a disapproving look 

that dissolved reluctantly as he grinned at her.

"Come _on_. Don't say it didn't piss you off too." 

"Maybe."

"You're so damn straight. I just can't figure you out. Half

 the time you're normal and you fight like a bitch."

Quistis raised one eyebrow.

"Well. You fight _well_. Okay? And then you've got this whole 

'my work is my life' thing going on."

"My work is _not_ my life." Quistis retorted angrily, and then

 shut up, watching Seifer's satisfied smirk and realising that

 he'd finally got a rise out of her. She parried. 

"As for you, at least I don't have trust issues."

 She was guessing, now, but there was something about being

 read reliably that just got to Seifer, she knew. He probably

 wasn't used to it.

Seifer shivered. "I do not have issues."

"Seifer, you have whole _libraries_ of issues. Volumes. 

Compilations. Archives, even."

He looked away. "I'd be offended if I knew what you

 meant."

"You're changing the subject. Woods. Trabia. Sorceresses.

 Wars. You know damn well what I mean."

"Bullshit."

"Just admit you're Issues Boy, okay." Quistis tried not to 

smile and allowed herself to lean into Seifer, slightly. 

Guerrilla tactics, in the warfare that was their conversation.

He moved away just for a second and for a miracle, refused

 to snipe back.  

His voice was angry. "I'm fine. And you should go. It's

 getting bloody late." He swung a leg over the sill and 

Quistis followed him back into the room.

She hissed. "I worry."

 Seifer snapped back "I didn't know you cared." He turned

 to move away, a darker shadow in the dusky room, body

 language shouting 'go away' so loudly that she didn't 

even have to see his face. 

It irritated Quistis for no reason. She put a hand on his 

shoulder and swung him round without stopping to think 

about what she was doing, maybe wanting for once just to

 get a reaction out of Seifer that was actually what he was

 feeling instead of just 'fuck _OFF_.'

Later she would think that the night had something to do

 with it. The night, and the conversation, and the sun, and 

maybe the fact that they'd managed to spend a whole two

 days together without slaughtering each other.

The room was slightly lit by a streetlight outside, turning 

everything into muted shades of grey. Seifer's faded jeans

 stood out best in the dark, followed by his pale hair. His

 body was tense.

 "I missed you, when I thought you were dead."

She spoke quietly but each word managed to drop like a

 bomb in the dingy room.

"You're the only one."  Seifer's mouth twisted in an ironic

 smile and he grabbed her wrist in one hand, pulling it away

 from his shoulder. "You better go."

Quistis scowled. 

_Don't even _try_ to tell me what to do…_

She raised her right hand and captured Seifer's other wrist 

neatly as he tried to yank her hand off him. He glared down

 at her.

Quistis raised herself on tiptoes so she could look him in the eye.

They stared at each other, faces inches away.

Quistis thought, irrelevantly _…and the night started out so well…_

Seifer swore. "Let go."

"Make me."

"Don't tempt me." He worked his hand along her arm to

 grip her more securely and then tried to wrench his hand

 out of her grip. Quistis swayed with the movement but 

didn't let go. She wrapped her fingers round Seifer's 

wrist, feeling for pressure points.

_If I twisted just here…___

His skin was warm against her hand. They were standing

 so close that she could practically feel his body heat.

Seifer swore, softly and brought his hand in close to his 

chest so that her arm almost touched his ragged T shirt. 

The tension in the room was changing slowly to something

 else more subtle.

Quistis looked at him. 

She was suddenly very aware that they were standing only

 inches away. The soft sunbleached hair on the back of his

 arm tickled her hand.

Seifer took an unsteady breath but didn't say anything. He

 was watching her intently, eyes glittering in the dark.

Quistis swallowed.

He let go of her wrist carefully and moved his hand to her

 hip.  Quistis's free arm moved slowly to his waist. There

 was worn denim underneath her fingers and then, as she 

moved her hand up a centimetre and under his T shirt, skin. 

He lowered his head, carefully, and kissed her hard on the

 cheek. Quistis turned her mouth to the kiss, letting her 

own hand slide from his arm and travel to his shoulders.

She felt Seifer tense, just once. Quistis swayed and reached

 out to the table to steady herself.

They kissed like it was a second duel.

It was something less than the most romantic kiss she'd

 ever had, but hell, it beat the last one hands down.

Seifer eventually moved his mouth to her neck, tracing

 upwards as Quistis realised she was still on tiptoes and

 that her feet were beginning to cramp. 

 "Miss me?" he said softly into her ear.

Quistis' head rested into the hollow of Seifer's throat, his

 chin leaning just on top of her skull, staring at something

 she couldn't see. Maybe he had his eyes closed. 

She wasn't sure, and couldn't tell, in the dark.

"You wanted me to admit that I care. Fine, I care. Why, 

I have no idea, because you're annoying and homicidal 

and legally dead…."

"Twice.  I have _experience_ at being dead."

"….and I, very clearly, am one sick little biscuit."

"Damn right…" Seifer experimentally moved one hand 

down, touching skin where her cotton vest didn't quite join

 her shorts. Quistis didn't mind. She snugged her left hand

 tightly round his waist, pulling him into her. 

Somewhere deep inside her head was the thought that 

maybe this wasn't the logical thing to do.  It felt right, 

despite everything, no doubt about it, but ….. 

Seifer's train of thought was also running along the same

 lines.

_Is this going where I think it's going and I really hope it is…_

_.what if we do, and.. ..what if it's wrong? _

And then he'd just have screwed up (literally) any chance of

some kind of meaningful friendship with a person who really

 knew what he was and what he'd done, and against the odds,

 still liked him.

That was the logical part of his mind, the one on the right side

 of the tracks. The _wrong_ half was screaming _"Quick! Sex! Sex!_

_ Before she changes her mind!"_

Seifer did something he didn't usually do and listened to his

 (for want of a better word) conscience.

He said to her "Is this a good idea?" softly, hating himself 

and knowing that he was probably going to do himself out

 of the first chance of getting laid he'd had in _months._

Quistis listened and looked at him almost sadly. "Of course

 it's not a good idea." 

She ran her fingers over the blond hairs on the back of his 

arm, brushing lines of muscle with nails that were just 

beginning to grow out. Seifer shivered beneath her fingers.

 His hand came to rest on top of hers, not gently, and then 

ran up her arm, tracing lightly to her cheekbone.

The silence between them stretched out into one very

 long second. Seifer's fingers caught in flyaway strands of 

Quistis' hair and she lifted her hand to trace over his fingers,

 feeling warmth, roughness, the thin smooth lines of scars

 and the slightly crooked bones that came from long healed

 fractures. Tentatively she stretched her other hand out to curl

 round the back of his neck, pulling him closer until they both

 leant forwards at the same time, resulting in an unromantic

 clash of noses before her lips found his mouth.  

 "I can't believe your tongue is down my throat"

"…nor can my tongue… Its luck, I mean….."
    
    It felt _good._
    
     Quistis leant back on the table as they gradually became
    
     more horizontal. It creaked ominously, wobbling under 
    
    her hands. She didn't blame it-she was feeling somewhat 
    
    weak in the knees herself-but really, she had standards. 
    
    And then there was the whole issue of splinters.  
    
    "Seifer…"

"Mmm?" He made a low sound in his throat, nibbling on her

 ear and she arched into his hands with a little needy moan

 that surprised them both.
    
     "The table…Hyne…" Her own hands yanked the T-shirt 
    
    out of the waistband of his jeans and slid up his back, warm
    
     and tense beneath her fingers, to trace over old forgotten scars.
    
     "Is breaking."
    
    "Bed?" Quietly, into her hair.
    
    "Mattress." Quistis spoke without thinking and then cursed
    
     herself for always having to _correct everything.  Talk about_
    
     killing the mood.  But Seifer didn't seem to mind. 
    
    Of course, she was pretty sure that at this point he probably
    
     wouldn't care _what she said, apart from maybe 'please stop'_
    
    , but he had pulled her shirt up and was sliding one hand
    
     down her stomach wearing a kind of absorbed expression
    
     that she'd certainly never seen in any of her lectures.
    
    "Futon." And now the other hand was awkwardly working
    
     its way up the buttons of her shirt, fabric falling away.  His
    
     voice was teasing, slightly defensive with something more
    
     complex underneath that she couldn't work out.
    
     "Whatever." She traced the lines of his shoulderblades 
    
    under the shirt, feeling muscles tense and relax under her
    
     hands. Seifer made an inarticulate noise into her hair and 
    
    pulled back for a second, shrugging his shirt off onto the floor.
    
     By the time he turned back, she'd finished what he had
    
     mostly started, unsnapping and unzipping with mathematical
    
     precision because there was nothing more awkward 
    
    than having to watch a guy try to take your bra off. Her
    
     glasses came off last and she placed them carefully on
    
     the table.
    
    Seifer gave her a slightly amused but approving look 
    
    and started to say something like, Quistis guessed, 
    
    "..couldn't wait?" before she wiped the familiar smirk
    
     off his face with another fierce kiss that moved from 
    
    exploratory to passionate in half a second. 
    
    His mouth tasted of beer.
    
    Quistis thought irrelevantly that she really should have 
    
    brushed her teeth and gasped as his hands _definitely went_
    
     south for the winter. They stumbled, half walking, half
    
     falling, over to the corner, shedding clothes like they were
    
     going out of fashion.
    
    "Still got your implant?"
    
     "Should…still work.."
    
     The last items of clothing hit the floor about the same
    
     time as they hit the mattress. The logical part of Quistis'
    
     brain seemed to have closed the curtains in disgust. She
    
     didn't mind. Seifer's hands were warm and his body 
    
    was heavy against hers, pressing her down into the mattress
    
     as they kissed.
    
    She wrapped her legs around his so he couldn't go anywhere
    
     even if he'd wanted to and lifted her hips to his.
    
    Sooner or later, though it was probably later, Quistis put
    
     her foot through the wall. 
    
    It didn't hurt much at the time-to be fair she didn't even 
    
    notice it, she had much more pressing things to think about- 
    
    but it made one hell of a noise. 
    
    Afterwards she heard Seifer swear sleepily as he noticed the
    
     hole. The sheets smelt of sex and sweat and more faintly of
    
     washing powder and cigarettes. They were pale off-white in
    
     the dark and the part nearest to her face had two neat burns in.

She slept and woke, some hours later.

Seifer slept next to her with one arm across his face, refusing

 to let his guard down even in his sleep. Despite this, he 

somehow managed to look a little younger than he usually

 allowed himself. 

They were curled into each other on the narrow mattress, 

Quistis' hand beneath his head. Pale stubbly hair brushed 

her cheek. There wasn't really any other way to sleep that 

would allow them both to share the bed.

Quistis lay there in the satisfied early morning way of 

someone who had just had good sex and watched her 

partner carefully.  

The view was attractive, even with the curtains closed.

 His skin was two shades of pale gold where the sun had

 tanned it, a few shades darker than hers. Morning light

 accentuated the contrast, making even the dingy little 

room look bright.    

If anyone had said, two years ago, that one day she'd be

 waking up next to Seifer Almasy she'd have laughed 

until she hurt, then kicked the hell out of them. 

And yet here she was.

Did that make her stupid _now_, or had she been wrong _then_?

 Was this going to be some kind of awful mistake?

Either way, she found it hard to regret anything at this 

precise moment, lying here and watching the sun come

 up through the curtains to make its way up the ceiling 

above her head.  Despite all, she felt content. Content, 

and …safe. 

Yeah. Safe as waking up next to a packet of razorblades.

 Not that Quistis would ever admit she was feeling insecure.

 Not that she couldn't handle pretty much anything by herself.

Her hand chose that precise moment to go to sleep, 

unlike the rest of her body.

Quistis wriggled, trying to work her wrist out from beneath

 Seifer's head. He needed to shave. Stubble rasped against

 her fingers as she inched them down into the pillow. 

He shifted, moving slightly. Quistis held her breath. Seifer

 sleeping was a rarity. She didn't particularly want to wake him.

They'd have to _talk._

He moved again, muttered something inaudibly and 

opened his eyes partway. They narrowed again almost

 immediately as he hissed something else she couldn't 

hear, raised his shoulder off the mattress and caught her

 wrist in a hold that stopped just two shades short of painful.

They stared at each other for a second, his face slightly 

blurred in Quistis's vision without her spectacles. She 

reflexively locked the other hand and wrenched it out 

of his grasp. 

Seifer tensed, and then relaxed again almost immediately,

 eyes sliding shut. He muttered something that might have

 been "Sorry", lay back down and pulled her closer.

Quistis ran a curious finger over the tattoo on his shoulders.

 A thin scar ran across one wing, the left. She traced

 it with her nail, feeling Seifer shiver under her fingers.

 "Nnnuh?"

 "Why?"

He didn't look at her. "I was a dumb kid. It seemed 

like a good thing to do."

 "I didn't say I didn't like it." Quistis moved the hand

down under the sheets. Seifer groaned, slid a hand round

 her waist and pulled her tight to him, so they were face

 to face. Quistis was suddenly aware of how his body fit

 against hers. Her brain seemed to be switching off again.

 She moved her head to rest in the hollow between his 

collarbone and neck, feeling his voice rumble against her

 lips as he spoke. It sounded like a purr.

"What do we do now?"

"I think.." She wriggled, trying to place her head in a more

 comfortable position. Something was pressing into her shoulder.

 "I'm thinking..what the hell is in this pillow?" 

Seifer looked puzzled, put one hand under the pillow and 

then his expression cleared. He flopped over onto his belly 

and pulled out a seven inch hunting knife from beneath the 

mattress under Quistis' head. Rolling over, Seifer slid it in 

the gap between the wall and his side of the mattress, slightly

 up from the hole. Quistis watched him with interest and faint

 disbelief.  

"You sleep on that?"

"Sure."

Her hair had come down. She automatically smoothed it into

 a knot, pulling the two little trails down to frame her face, and

 then let it drop. It fell gently around her bare shoulders. 

The mental bureaucrat in Quistis' brain chose that very moment

 to kick into action and point out sweetly that she was naked

 from the waist up. 

To be fair, so was Seifer. The sheet covering them both was 

too worn and too short and left little to the imagination. More

 importantly it lacked the important L shaped configuration well

 known to makers of TV commercials and the nicer kind of magazine. 

Hyne, it wasn't even _cold_ in the room. 

Quistis mentally gagged the bureaucrat, shook away a 

slight tinge of embarrassment and placed her hand curiously

 on Seifer's stomach, feeling his muscles move beneath

 tanned skin. A faint scar ran across his left hip almost 

from his shoulder and she traced it down under the sheets.

Seifer moaned and kissed her, hard. Eventually the kisses

 moved down and turned into something else that in turn

 changed into something seemingly more interesting to

 them both.

Some time later Quistis yawned, stretched, used her own

 initiative and went to find the shower. She collected her 

glasses off the table and her clothes off the floor, wrapping

 the sheet around her on the way, to Seifer's protests.

"Heyy….."

Quistis successfully resisted the temptation to apologise 

and jump back into bed. "Tough."

"Harsh" He didn't sound angry, or, she realised, particularly

 tired.

Despite herself she glanced back, and grinned. "And put some

 pants on." exiting though the curtain to a muffled curse. 

It wasn't late, though her internal body clock insisted that Quistis

 should have been up for an hour and done a six mile run. She

 found the tiny shower, set into the wall between the two flats,

 noted that there were two connecting doors, carefully locked and

bolted both of them and turned the heat up as high as it would go.

As soon as Quistis' body relaxed her mind switched on and

 kicked in with a shrill like a dog whistle.  

_Hyne.___

_What are you doing?_

She'd just had sex with the kind of guy she'd cheerfully 

douse with pepper spray if he approached her in a bar.   

And she'd liked it.

If the first thought had rated a high eight on Quistis' scale of 

'Seriously, no, I mean _really_ disturbing' facts, the second was a 

couple of notches off being a ten.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes and reached blindly for 

shampoo or shower gel, or even washing-up liquid. Her questing

 palm found one bottle sitting on the shelf above the shower and

 she poured it into her hand with a gelatinous squelch, rubbing 

the liquid into her scalp. To her surprise it actually smelt nice. 

Flowery, even.

Quistis shut down that idea fast, but the smell wouldn't leave her

 alone as she sluiced clean water through her hair, hissing as the

 shower cycled rapidly through hot, cold and lukewarm before 

turning back to scalding.  

When the soap had cleared from her eyes she grabbed the 

bottle, rinsed the suds from her hands and glanced at the label

 in mild bemusement. It was purple, and, yes, flowery. More 

specifically, lilac-y. 

It took her a couple of minutes to work out that the bathroom,

 was, of course, shared with the owner of the car she'd seen

 the evening before. Hopefully, the soap was the old woman's.

Hopefully.

Quistis finished showering, turned the water off and stood for

 a few seconds in the musty mouldy heat warmth until the

steam cleared enough for her to find a towel. 

It was easy enough to locate Seifer's. The bathroom definitely

 had a split personality, tiny though it was. She categorised the

 details, out of habit. 

The bald and off-white towel she was in the process of trying

 to wrap round her body was Seifer's, obviously, as was the 

razor left on the windowsill. There was also a cake of cracked

 white soap in the sink, which seemed to be about it for him. 

The left side of the room, on his side of the door, was almost 

empty.  

Feeling like a voyeur, Quistis took stock of the other items 

in

 the bathroom as she dressed, trying to avoid soaking her 

clothes in the two inches of water left on the floor. Most of

 them looked pre-wars, and all of them were flowery. There

 was a stub of eyeliner left on the right side of the sink, and

 a half-empty packet of Nytol on the right side of the 

windowsill. A large and cracked mirror hung over the sink

 and divided the two sides. 

Quistis stared in it as she tried to smooth her hair back 

with her fingers and idly wondered if she could train 

Seifer to good behaviour using sex alone.  

_Maybe not.___

She sighed and gave up on her hair, twisting it raggedly 

into a bun, cursed, reached for her glasses and re-did the

 arrangement. Even wearing her spectacles, her reflection

 in the mirror was blurred, and speckled with fly-spots,

 the crack dividing her face in two with a jagged silvery

 line that reached from her left temple to her chin. Quistis

 assessed her appearance. In three words, she would have

 said _tired, messy_ and _hot. _

She squashed _happy_ down inside her head and indignantly

 substituted _casual_ for _messy._

Right.

_Stop wasting time._

Quistis squared her shoulders, picked up the trailing

 damp sheet and yanked the door open, stepping out

into Seifer's flat. It seemed larger than before, more

 sunlit, and she realised that he'd pulled the curtain 

back to hide the hole in the wall. 

A dull blush rose in her cheeks as she threw the sheet 

onto the mattress. It just as quickly died down. Blushing

 was a liability when you were teaching students as 

old as you were. She'd spent plenty of time developing

 the facial equivalent of Tipp-Ex. 

Seifer had his back to her, leaning out of the window

 with his elbows resting on the ledge. He was, also, 

fully dressed, though barefoot.

Quistis looked down at her own feet, tanned from the

 week of sun and trailing damp prints on the horrible 

carpet. 

He half-turned and flicked what she was sure was a 

cigarette onto the tiles. "Finished?"

"Yes."

There was an awkward silence.      

Quistis mentally castigated herself for not leaving 

sooner. "Sorry about the ..hole." 

Seifer pointed to the table. "Don't worry. You can't

 make this shithole any worse. Coffee? I'm going to

 have a shower."

"Okay." Quistis seated herself at the table and watched 

Seifer into the bathroom before she took the first sip

 of drink.

It was surprisingly good. Black, strong and bitter, real

 heart-attack coffee, the yuppie's version of ordering a

 triple rye whisky in a cowboy bar and the engine oil of 

Quistis thought processes.

The water switched on. 

What was she going to do?

What did she _want_ to do?

_Okay. Let's go abut this in a calm and logical manner…_

_ ohHyne-IjusthadsexwithSeiferAlmasyand I'm damned_

_ if I'm going to be just another notch on his bedpost….._

If he had a bedpost. 

Which he didn't.

_I slept with a guy who doesn't even have a bed._

Quistis downed the dregs of her coffee and rested her

 head in her hands.

_Ye gods_

It wasn't like there hadn't been others, usually older, 

always intelligent, with absolute discretion and not 

abysmal attractiveness. None of them had been 

students of hers and none had lasted long. Most of

 them she hadn't missed, and the remainder probably hadn't missed _her.  _

_I thought I liked brunettes_. 

To her knowledge, Seifer, in his tenure at the school,

 had slept with just about everything female with two

 legs that wasn't a table. Or at least she'd heard rumours.

There were always rumours, in a school. 

And Seifer had a permanent attitude problem, the kind 

of guy who thought he knew what a woman liked, and

 that it was him.

Unfortunately, he was usually right. 

If Quistis admitted it to herself she'd never actually

 talked to someone who had screwed him, but then 

she didn't often associate with _those kind of girls.  _

Instead she listened to the water and made a mental 

list for the second time that day.

_Cons: Technically a mass-murderer, officially dead_

_(so possibly necrophilia), amoral, alcoholic, nicotine_

_ addict, possibly mental, always violent. Wanted for_

_ crimes against humanity, unwanted by everyone else_

_ who mattered._

_Okay._

Quistis chipped more grains off the fossilised coffee jar

 that Seifer had thoughtfully placed on the table within 

arms' reach, and made herself another drink.

_Pros: Pretty damn cute, _if she admitted it to herself. 

_ ….but then he knows it, so better make that a con._

 Hell, Seifer _was a con. As in 'vict.')_

_A SeeD.___

That was definitely a pro.  

She thought about that and changed it to_ ex-SeeD. _

The equation didn't really add up.

_He was a jerk. He's still a jerk.._

The sound of water switching off came from the tiny 

bathroom, followed by an angry shout.

"You used the fucking towel."

Quistis rolled her eyes, and shouted back. "Yes. What

 was I supposed to use? The flannel? I'm sure the little

 old lady's got one you could steal. "

"You must be bloody joking. She keeps them in her flat. 

She won't let anything of hers that can't be sterilised near me." 

"I wonder why." Quistis said unrepentantly. Her eyes fell

 guiltily on the damp sheet, crumpled up on the mattress. 

It was messy.

It made her brain itch.

She padded across the room to retrieve it, allowing as

 little of her bare feet to touch the carpet as possible. 

Smoothing it out, she flung it over the windowsill and

 put a couple of the larger books on it to hold it down. 

She was sitting at the table finishing off her second cup

 of coffee when Seifer came in. He made himself a 

mug without saying anything and sat at the table next

 to her, commenting dryly "So, what do we do now?"

His voice was slightly defensive. 

Quistis glanced over at him, noticing something slightly

 different, thought it took her a few seconds to realise 

quite what. Her footprints had left dark outlines on the 

carpet. Seifer's were dripping. 

"Didn't you use a towel?"

Seifer's hands went almost defensively to his hair, which

 stuck up, making Quistis smile. He smoothed it down,

 ran his hands through it and swore. "It was wet."

There was another awkward silence. Quistis' eyes brushed

 past Seifer's chest and fixed onto the carpet.

"I shoul…"

"You…."

They both stopped at the same time. The chair swayed

 under Quistis and she shoved a knee against the table to

 balance it, touching Seifer's leg with hers. It was damp,

 through the jeans. Quistis took a closer look.

He really hadn't bothered to dry off. She'd thought his 

clothes looked newer than usual, but it was just that the 

water had given the faded colours a new lease of life.

She didn't move her leg away.

Seifer coughed and drank more coffee. When he spoke,

 his words were muffled by the mug.  

"It's not like I'm asking you to darn my name on your 

socks. It doesn't have to be a damn _thing_." 

Quistis gave him a searching look. Seifer Almasy, six 

foot two in bare feet, green eyes, blond hair, old scar that

 should have healed cleanly and without a trace but that 

somehow managed to stick around. Wet.

Very wet.

She took a deep breath and gave up trying to explain 

things to herself. Moved her leg closer to his, noting 

abstractly the interesting ways wet denim clung.

"Do you want it to be?"

Seifer reached over the table awkwardly and raised his

 hands to brush each side of her face cupping her face in

 his hands. His eyes were intent on hers. Quistis leaned 

across the table towards him and took each of his wrists 

in one of her hands, moving the hold to his shoulder and 

then to the back of his neck and back to his shoulders 

again as he flinched and tried to hide it, badly..

 "Hyne, yeah."

This time the kiss tasted like coffee, bittersweet and

 addictive as hell. 

References.

The 'and then she put her foot through the wall' bit was inspired 

by one of Cassandra Claire's short stories, the one with Amsterdam 

and Voldemort being killed by a brick. 

The bonfire song is 'The Fisherman's Lament' by Great Big Sea, 

same for the one about the string ('Yarmouth Town'). The lilac 

shampoo came from a fic on ff.net that had scented soap and a high

 'that is SO wrong' factor. A good chunk of Seifer inspiration and

 the tattoo is from (oh, God) the crossover smutfic 'It Was Late, 

And We Were Tired' on Technomancy (mancer.net.) Click on 

'nymphomancy' and then on 'stuff you'd show your mother' and

 then on 'crossovers'. The site may contain fictional people 

having enthusiastic sex: don't say I didn't warn you. 

Heh.  

Smutty comments.

So yeah. Chapter six is the one with the mad monkey sex which

 I know you've all been waiting for (appropriate, huh?). I hope

 no one thinks it went too fast, but I thought sixteen chapters of

 Government Bloodhounds and five of South Down The Coast

 was enough. These things take time. And I really wanted to write

 them as a couple for a good chunk of the fic. 

Hopefully eyeforks were not needed.   Send your two cents to

 the usual address and I'll use them to buy something nice.   

Reviews:

Amber Tinted(There will be some Squall, but it's mostly Selphie

 and Rinoa. Sorry. :D), breaker-one(ta!;D) ghost140( but in rugby,

 they wear those little shorts)hells-paradis ( I'm flattered. This one

 should be better.  I've had more practice), nynaeve77 

(well-defined tastes-I'll have to remember that, and try to wear

 my anorak with pride), quistis88 (thanks)Renoa (I did, ta. See,

 I respond to my reviewers, usually with loud shouts of 'Why, oh

 why is the html not working?' and inventive threats which you

don't want to hear. It's a good job computers don't have testicles

 is all I can say) 

seatbelts (thanks for the birthday wishes, guys.:D). superviolinist

 (you took the words right out of my mouth. Tadaaa!) seventhe

 (good luck with the job, keep in touch), the finely tuned fiend 

( It's okay now. I have no idea why my files keep doing this. 

Why only SOME of my files keep doing this. Grrr) 

kate (so what the hell, we've already been forever damned…. 

(Gin Blossoms))


	7. Chapter Seven: White Flag

Chapter Seven: White Flag 
    
    The next night he's over and over and under, 
    
    And after he's finished she lies there and wonders.
    
    Just why does she need him and why does she stay here,
    
    And then in the darkness she'll quietly save you.
    
    They're complicated people living complicated lives,
    
    And he complicates their problems telling complicated lies.
    
    He tells he he's sorry, she tells him it's over,
    
    He tells her he's sorry, she says over and over,
    
    You never really know when the white flag is flown.
    
    No one, no one, no one won the war. 

Barenaked Ladies: The Flag (edit)

The next few days passed slowly, the calm before the storm in more ways than one.

 The weather had turned, misty grey gloom that sank down between the hills down

 to the beach and stayed. It was good weather for staying inside, away from the fog

 and the ceaselessly bitching tourists. Quistis would later write in her journal, under

 June sixth to eleventh, inclusive, three words in careful curling blue ink. Nothing 

Much Happened.

This was, of course, a lie.

They worked out together on the beach, and sometimes it led to sex and sometimes

 it didn't. Mostly it did, because if you read the right psychology books (which 

Quistis did) fighting is just really sex standing up. Or sex is just fighting lying down. 

It all depends on the perspective. 

Seifer taped a bin liner over the hole in the wall.

Quistis surreptitiously liberated soap, towels and a flannel from the hotel bedroom

 and bought a fresh jar of coffee.  She stopped reaching out for her clothes in the

 morning and no longer jumped out of bed immediately or talked about going home. 

It was on the morning of the eighth of June that the subject first came up. 

They had both just returned from another early morning training session on the 

beach, tracking sand up the stairs and into the floor. Quistis had a large bruise 

on the back of her hand, and she inspected it with interest.  She gingerly picked 

a book from Seifer's fishbox shelves and leafed carefully through it, weighing the

 crumpled paperback in her hand and testing for more serious damage beneath 

her skin. 

Her hand felt fine.

Seifer wandered over from the other side of the flat and placed a mug of coffee

 on the table without a word. "Don't bother. It's crap."

Quistis took the drink and looked down at the book's cover. It seemed to be 

a kind of historical novel. "What?"

"The book. The battle scenes are bullshit. I could have out-manoeuvred the 

entire Galbadian Army on a pushbike." 

"You're modest, too."

 "Yeah. I'm guessing that's just a flaw in the writing, though." He gave an ill-

concealed wince. "Damn. You don't pull any punches, do you?"

Quistis allowed herself a smile. "Fair's fair." _In love and war…_

Seifer tipped back on the chair and gave her a long look. "You're improving,

 to say you didn't swordfight before."

"I'm flattered." Quistis said sarcastically. She worked her foot along to the 

bottom of Seifer's chair leg, intending to kick the chair out from under him. 

The chair leg held. She nudged it harder. 

Seifer swayed on the chair and moved his weight forwards with a thump that

 set its two front legs down with a bang onto the carpet. The right one, at least,

 would have landed on the carpet, if her toes hadn't been in the way.

"Seifer. My foot." 

"Hey, I'm sorry." He gave her a look that meant he knew damn well what she'd

 been trying to do. Their verbal sparring at least hadn't changed.

"Seifer Almasy, _apologising?"_

"Don't get used to it." He picked up their mugs and dumped them in the sink

 to fester with all the other unwashed plates, Seifer's method of dishwashing

 being to stockpile as many as possible, then blitz the lot. It was a strategy that

 would have worked better if he'd had more crockery and less vermin. 

Quistis rose from her chair "There's other things I could get used to."

"Such as?"

She shrugged, reluctant to say more.

Seifer needed no more encouragement. He kissed her into the wall, which

 showered plaster.  Quistis crooked an arm to place a hand behind her head

 as a pillow, raised the other hand and traced her fingers along his jaw. The

 position was uncomfortable, raising knots in the muscles of her neck and 

shoulders. She shifted, crushed against Seifer and the wall. He didn't look

 like he was going to be moving soon.

Unless she made him.

Quistis uncurled her hand from behind her head, placed it on Seifer's shoulder

 to hold him still and went to work on his ear, nipping the lobe gently. Her 

other hand moved down.  

"Hey, don't……nnn no, don't _stop.."_

There was a small noise coming from the flat. Quistis opened her eyes. 

"Seifer, we're …..uhhhh….being watched."

"If it's that old lady from down the hall, ignore her. It's nothing she hasn't 

seen before."

"It's not human."

Seifer turned. Quistis, regretfully, replaced her arm round his waist. 

A large cockroach was seated on the dining table, looking at them. The word

 'large' didn't really do it justice. It was the size of a small cat.

"Just ignore it."

"This is _normal_?"

"Yeah…" He ran his hand down her back, fingers slipping under the waistband

 of her pants. Quistis stifled a moan. The cockroach was looking at her in a 

judgemental kind of way. She could see porn movies in its eyes.

She disentangled his hands with regret and spun round again. "For you, maybe. 

Your mattress is on the World's Most Wanted list, never mind you."

Hey. Was. I _was on the world's most wanted list, okay."_

Seifer sighed. He took his hands out of her trousers with regret, walked the two

 steps over to the tiny sink, pulled out a can of Raid Instant Death from under the

 sink and sprayed it at the cockroach, which was walking slowly across the laminate

 table. It reached the edge and kept on going down the leg, the ninety-degree 

change in angle not appearing to worry it one bit.

 "Maybe we should go back to my hotel sometime." Quistis took aim and hit the

 cockroach with her shoe, hard. It kept on walking. "Are these normal cockroaches?

 They're kind of big."

Seifer stamped on the roach a few more times, picked it up and threw it out the 

window. "Course."

They watched it scuttle off down the street. 

"I've seen Snow Lions smaller."

Seifer gave a defensive one-shoulder shrug. "It's not that bad…"

"So how could it be worse? They probably ate your socks. Laundry is not a crime, 

Seifer." _Not that I do any, ever. The perks of being a SeeD… _

"So who the fuck am I kidding? I never said it wasn't a shithole." Seifer glanced round

 the room as if he was expecting a revenge attack by legions of roaches. He stamped 

on the floor a few times, experimentally, and looked mildly aggravated that none appeared.

There was a fading falsetto shriek from the next room. "_I know what you're doing_

_ in there! Keep the noise down or I'll get you evicted_!"

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Bitch. Like to see her try." 

"Come to mine." Quistis straightened her top, strategically.

"And get chucked out by that bitch of a manager? No thanks."

"I've got a double bed." She glanced over at the curtain that divided the tiny room

 in half. "Scratch that.  I actually have a bed."

 "Okay." Seifer sprayed Raid over the skirting boards, table, chairs, carpet and 

Quistis, who coughed. 

In between choking, she spat out "That took a lot of persuasion."

"I'm poor, I'm not stupid. Besides, this flat smells like ass.

It has things growing on it." 

 Quistis watched him spray the carpet and shook her head. "That's practically 

genocide."

"Been there, done that, can't remember most of it."  Seifer shut up, coughing. 

"Damn, this tin says 'Carcinogen' on it. That's not good."

Evacuation, it turned out,  was their only option. 

Three days later…..

Quistis was lounging in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for Seifer to drop by. They

 had what Quistis had tentatively named 'Operation; Dinner Date.' It should have

 been technically impossible to lounge in a room with nothing but metal framed 

upright chairs for seating, but she managed it anyway, biting at her nails and 

corkscrewing strands of hair round her fingers.

This was a first and Quistis was obscurely nervous. Making out in the privacy of

 her room or Seifer's horrible flat was okay, a dinner together was, well, public. 

People might notice.

Memo: Pick table near door. Abort at first signs of trouble. Synchronise watches.

 Enjoy responsibly. 

Her train of thought was broken by the hotel's maid cleaning round her feet.

 She was about eighteen, fresh out of school for the holidays with dark spiky

 hair and bottle-top green eyes that peered out over the top of thick round 

Health Service glasses. 

"Pardon?"

The maid manoeuvred the vacuum closer to Quistis's legs. She picked them

 up automatically so the hose could trace under her feet, and placed them down again. 

"I _said_, your cousin's been round a lot. 

_Ohhh__, you have no idea…_

You must be very close."

Quistis had long ago mastered the art of not telling the truth without actually lying.

 "Yeah. We, uh, used to spend a lot of time together as kids." 

"Are you up visiting him, then?" said the maid, brightly.

"Yes."

"Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"That's a shame. I have three brothers. Four sisters. Their names are Katie and Jimmy

 and Karen and.." 

Quistis tuned out and noticed a book resting on the neighbouring seat. Its red cover 

stood out sharply against the pale blue velour seat. She picked it up casually, feeling

 vaguely grateful it wasn't any kind of historical novel. The spine read, in shiny block 

letters: The _Survival Guide to Dating._

The urge to read something, anything, was like a drug. Any more and she'd have to ask

 Seifer if she could borrow some of his, no matter how badly told or pornographic the 

storytelling. 

She turned to the first subheading.  _How to Tell If Your Date Is A Chainsaw Murderer_

How could you find out if your date was a murderer? 

_Well, you could ask him. _ In Quistis' albeit limited experience it probably wouldn't do

 any good, but it'd make him feel guilty, one of many bargaining chips in the firefight 

that was their relationship so far. Anyway……

_Murderer yes.__ Chainsaw no. I don't think you meet many guys whose weapon _

_of__ choice is a medium-sized boarding school/military academy._

_And even if you do, it's no good for close range._

The girl had finished hovering. 

"He's kind of sexy."

"What?" _Your brother?_ Are we still talking about family here? If she asks about__

_ mine she'll be sadly disappointed…guess I can always make something up_…..

"Your cousin. He's kind of sexy."

Quistis stamped down her initial reaction. _Hands off! Mine! and converted it to a _

sweet smile. "No good, I'm afraid. He, uh, bats for the other team. If you get what

 I mean."

The maid pouted and returned to her cleaning. "Figures. I'll tell you a joke. How 

come men are like toilets? They're either vacant, engaged, or full of shit. Or gay." 

She sighed, the kind of angsty farewell-cruel-world sigh only an adolescent could

 manage.

Quistis considered the joke and mentally slotted Seifer into the third category. 

"So, are you seeing someone?

_Déjà vu.__ Does everyone in this damn hotel have noting better to do than_

_question__ me about my love life? I'll have to get Seifer to drop more fag-ash_

_ on the carpet. That should keep them busy_.

The girl cocked her head in a way she probably thought was winsome but on her,

 looked more like she'd just contracted a severe middle ear infection. "It's all right.

 You can tell me. I know you are. My aunt" she jerked her head at the desk

 "doesn't know."

_Hyne, how the hell had this piece of fluff found out? _She needed to radically

 rethink their strategies, if it came to that.

"I know you are."

_What would I do in a mission situation?_

_This girl is in possession of critical information that must not be divulged._

_ She must die._

Quistis sighed and rubbed her forehead_. This isn't a mission. This is real life._

_Dammit._

_I miss Garden. Everyone's too scared to ask me about my private life, or _

_they__ know me well enough to figure I haven't got one._

She gave in. "Yeah. I'm seeing someone."

"What's he like?" The girl switched the vacuum off at the wall and began coiling

 the cord, a process that looked horribly fiddly but not complicated enough to stop

 her talking, unfortunately. 

Quistis shrugged. "Blond. Look, haven't you got cleaning somewhere that needs

 doing?"

"You're so pretty. I bet you have heaps of men."

_Well, no, because being flash frozen, threatened with castration and watching_

_ me shoot someone in the chest does tend to cool down lots of relationships_….

She hedged. "Not really."

"I'm sure you're only being modest." The girl sighed. "I can't get any dates. Well, 

you know, I can never get the guys I like to date me. Do you think I'm too freckly?

 No really? Is it the freckles?"

Quistis swallowed. The girl talk was making her palms begin to sweat, give it another

 two minutes and she'd be able to surf out of the lobby. " No."

_It's the voice. You sound like a budgie on helium. And you talk too much.  You_

_ remind me of someone….. _

"You're fine."

_Is she trying to come onto me?_

 "I have to introduce you to a friend of mine."

"Really!" The girl brightened, face red from the effort of coiling the vacuum cleaner 

cord. She hoisted the vacuum up and shut it away in a small cupboard by the 

reception that Quistis hadn't previously noticed. "A guy friend?"

"No. Her name's Selphie. I think you'd get on with her just fine." _And __Irvine__ would_

_ eat you for dinner…_

The girl smiled, thinking it was a compliment. It was, in a backhanded way. 

Quistis respected Selphie more than most people, even more than most SeeDs.

 They were all killers, the orphanage kids. 

Some of them just hid it better than others. 

The girl gave Quistis another dazzling smile that swung round the lobby like a 

searchlight. She straightened, rubbing her back. "Hello, cousin man. You're 

visiting a lot all of a sudden."

_Seifer?___

He was half way across the floor of the lobby, dressed in his usual beat-up old jeans

 and T shirt. Quistis mentally swore.

_Getting soft.__ Too much sun, sea, sand and.. okay, not going there_

_Anyway, too much.___

Seifer gave Quistis a worried glance that seemed to say _does she know?_

She sent him back one that said _no, of course not._

The girl jumped into the silence like a lemming from a cliff. "We were just saying

 that you two must be really close."

"Uh, yeah. You could say that." He reached the chairs, went to put an arm round

 Quistis' waist, stopped himself visibly and jammed it in the pocket of his jeans instead. 

Quistis was angry at herself for anticipating, and missing, his little gestures. She didn't

 need to feel wanted.

Really.

She changed the subject. "Yeah, we were. Crazy kids. Yeah. Come on, _cousin_. 

I need to get my coat. You want to come up?" 

She mugged frantically at Seifer, her back to the girl. 

"Uh, yeah. Bye."

Seifer waited till they were out of sight before asking "What the hell was that all about?"

Quistis swallowed.

"She was looking at me funny."

"She wouldn't leave me alone." Quistis said. With a certain amount of gleeful malice

 she added "And along the way, I might have implied……" 

"What?"

"That you were, uh, batting for the other team." 

 "Thanks. Why?" The sarcasm in Seifer's voice would have made less sensitive things

 than Quistis curl up and die.

"It seemed like a good idea." She considered for a few moments and added "I had 

to come up with something." 

"I'd really love to sit here and listen to you dig your grave while you explain just how 

hard you had to try to keep her from my damn sexy self, but we should be going." 

He checked his watch. 

"Seifer, I might be digging my grave, but at least I only have one. If you ever got a coffin,

 it'd need a revolving lid."

"Bitchy." He made for the exit.

"Clothes."

"What clothes? I don't have any of mine here."

"You do. You left them here. Look, you're legit this time. You're just visiting to take me

 out for dinner. Nothing with the fire escape and the latched door, okay?  So you have

 to look smart."

"I am."

"Nothing with holes in is presentable, okay?"

"You've seen my flat. I have two pairs of jeans. Three T shirts. A jacket. A pair of 

boots. My Trabian kit got eaten or rotten or shot or hacked up by monsters."

 "We have to go shopping." Quistis said reluctantly.

"No. Over my dead body." He thought a minute and added. "Unless you're paying."

"That can be arranged. The dead thing, not the money thing"

"Let's go. Repeat after me. 'My clothes are not that bad..."

Your clothes are horrible. Stop trying to mind whammy me.  She plucked at the 

sleeve of his T shirt. "It's grey."

"So?"

"It's _supposed_ to be black."  _Hyne.__ I sound like Edea…._

"It's fine. Grey is the new black. Anyway, it could be worse. It could have been 

white."

"Black is the new black, Seifer."

"At least I'm wearing clothes. I could go nude"

Quistis thought about pointing out the embarrassment factor but seceded against it.

  Seifer was fundamentally hard to embarrass. She settled for encouragement while 

betting that he tended to do exactly the opposite of what she demanded and was 

not disappointed.

Come to think of it, maybe she was.

She glanced at her watch. "We have to go. It's twenty one hundred hours, and the

 mission commences at twenty one-ten. "

"Trepe, was that a _joke?"_

"Maybe."

"We've got time." He closed in "Repeat after me. 'We've got time.'" 

She smiled and said "My watch must be fast." 

Things had reached first base and were rounding to second when Quistis pulled

 Seifer away and held him at arm's length. A key fell out of her pocket and landed

 on the floor with a clunk. Seifer bent, behind her, and picked it up. Quistis, her mouth

 working at the speed of a startled hare, made a mental note to get the key off Seifer later.

"And the effect of chiaroscuro on these paintings is most remarkable..why  sorry, Mrs.

 Noble. I had no idea you were there. Is that the time. We must hurry. Bye!" She dragged

 Seifer down the stairs.

"Do you think she saw anything?"

"Hopefully not. Or I'll have to kill her."

They tramped through the doorway of the Summer Plaice at half past nine. Seifer had

 ended up insisting on waiting until it was dark, and Quistis had agreed with no reluctance

 at all, because having your date executed over the entrees did tend to spoil a meal.  

Apart from the logo, an obnoxious green cartoon fish smiling in a way that suggested 

serious prescription drugs, the restaurant was indistinguishable from the many others 

that lined the waterfront in the nicer part of town. Awning at front, check. Mildly affluent 

diners, check. Pot plants, check. Slight aroma of fish and inept teenage waiters glowering

 at customers, check. 

Quistis approached the nearest waiter, a blond and freckled youth with a permanent

 expression of slight worry and unusually large shoes. 

 "A table for two please. At the back."    She gestured to the rear of the café. 

  The waiter raised his eyebrows. "You want a table near the kitchen? No one 

wants a table near the kitchen." His tone was damning.

Seifer shrugged. "We do." Quistis watched his eyes search out the exit doors; one

 on the left, one behind the pot plant to the right, entry behind, bathrooms in front.  

It made her feel almost normal, that there was one other person in the world that   
chose places to eat by number of doors. Almost.

The waiter tried again. "We have lots of empty tables." 

That was an understatement. The tables near the restaurant's large café style 

veranda emblazoned with the _Summer Plaice logo were almost all full, but the _

back was near-empty.  

Quistis sighed. _Does he think we're blind?_ "The kitchen, please."

The waiter led the way over to a table. "Right. That's kind of weird."

Seifer grinned. "She's a food fetishist."

"I am not." Quistis dug a boot into his shins. It didn't work. 

"She's a secret food fetishist."

 The waiter gave her a surprised and mildly amused glance, set a couple of menus

 in front of them and left.

Quistis lowered her glasses and stared at Seifer. She didn't say anything. She didn't

 have to.

"What? I can't say it's 'cause we might want to get out real fast. He'll think we're

 trying to stand them up."

 Quistis set her bag on the floor, leaning it up against her chair to be sure she could

 get to it in an emergency. The canvas was scratchy and hot against her leg. It was

 really hot, even for the coast, humid and warm as if a storm was rolling in. The whole

 back of the room was like a sauna.  

"Don't say you hadn't thought of it." 

Seifer tried to look innocent and failed. "You're paying, remember."

"I know." Bless Squall's expense account. She hadn't told Seifer that she was living

 off a generous credit card 'vacation allowance' set by Squall. There was a rock hard  
 certainty in her head about what would happen if she told him. At the very best he'd

 just ask her for money, at the worst…… 

She changed the subject quickly. "What drinks do they do?"

"Don't ask me." Seifer picked up the menu, read it, turned it around and read it

 again. "Not on here."  

"I thought you'd know."

"What? I'm an alcoholic, not a…. whatever…Person. Who eats for money."

"Gourmet? Critic?"

"I'm always critical."

She sighed. "I noticed."

"Yeah? The guy in the glass house called. Someone's chucking rocks and he 

thinks it's you."

"Very funny." Quistis looked round the bar for some kind of menu. There didn't 

appear to be anything, though there was a large chalkboard over the bar. With 

nothing else to do, she started deciphering the florid writing.

"PanGalactic Gargle Blaster? Hamster Death Gulp Shockers? Slow Comfortable

 Screw In The Park?"

Seifer grinned. "I'll have what you're having."

"These are drinks?" Quistis wiped her glasses.

"Cocktails. There's a difference."

"Such as?"

"Shite names. And they cost more."

A second waiter came to take their drinks. Seifer ordered a beer, Quistis a soda water. 

She glanced around. "Nice restaurant."

And it was. The furniture was real wood and the wide patio doors opened to

 spill tables out onto the seats. There was a vase in the middle of the table with

 some kind of weird flower in it. The carpet was thick and the same colour of 

the flowers and most importantly, Quistis hadn't stuck to it at all as she walked in. 

Seifer shrugged. "It's okay." He looked over his shoulder, surreptitiously, and 

crossed his long legs under the table. His ankle brushed Quistis' shoe and he 

began to move his leg up with a slightly evil grin.

Quistis gave him a 'now is not the place' look, smiled to defuse the hint and

 trapped his ankle between her foot and the leg of her chair. Her voice was casual.

"It's got to be better than most places you go to. It beats the cafeteria hands 

down in décor. Let's hope the food's as good."

"Face it, you're getting Garden withdrawal. I bet you order hotdogs."

"I'd rather eat the chair."

"Never figured out why Dincht liked that shite so much. Maybe that was." he waved

 one hand above his head randomly." Why the hair."

"Why the hair what?"

Seifer shrugged. "Just, you know, why the hair."

"You always picked on him." Quistis commented disapprovingly.

"Survival of the fittest. You could've used it as an offensive weapon."

"Says you. What's with the fringe?"

Seifer reached up to his hair. "Habit? Shit, I don't know. At least I don't

 go round looking like a frigging Chocobo."

Quistis sighed and prepared to slip back into her old habit of defending other

 people to Seifer. "It suits him."

"That's really worrying. Don't tell me you find it attractive."

"Don't tell _me_ you're feeling insecure. Besides, he's shorter than me, for Hyne's sake."

"I don't do insecure."

"I noticed."

"Neither do you."

Quistis was obscurely flattered. 

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Everyone's insecure. Some just hide it better 

than others."

"You were never insecure." Seifer leaned back in his chair and Quistis let his foot go.

 He regarded her with half-closed eyes, his voice slightly teasing. "Not even when you

 were a kid."

Quistis thought _I wish_, thankful her outer façade still worked. She shrugged, and changed

 the subject, staring out of the door and noticing a familiar figure. 

"That priest guy's giving out leaflets again."

"Does anyone read those things?"

"It must work. Otherwise he wouldn't do it."

"I'm about as likely to get converted by a bumper sticker than I am by that shit."

"Seifer, you're just not a religious person."

He smirked. "Nah."

"It must be nice to believe in something." Quistis said half-enviously.

Seifer narrowed his eyes and stared at the priest guy like a sniper. "Everyone believes

 in something."

"What do you believe in?"

"Getting through the day. That life really is as shitty as you think it is most of the time."

"That's not very optimistic."

"Can you blame me?" He shrugged. "Yeah, you probably can. Anyway, _you_ believe

 in something."

Quistis looked nonplussed. This was going to be interesting. "What? Tell me. I'm 

intrigued. And you're probably wrong."

"Garden."

"Garden's just a thing." Quistis knew that the comment felt wrong even as she said it.

"Like you think that." Seifer said sarcastically. He picked up one of the cutlery knives 

and stared juggling it from hand to hand, without looking. "It's like you really believe

 that what you do's right. That you're somehow making the world a better place just by 

being part of it, even when you're teaching morons."

"Morons." Quistis watched the knife carefully. 

"Yeah."  He shrugged. 

Quistis slid her hand over his, flicking the knife away. It spun across the table and 

almost turned over the water glasses. She raised an eyebrow.

"You know I'm right." Seifer retrieved the knife almost sheepishly.

"Apart from when you're wrong." Quistis responded automatically. She still hadn't got

 used to thinking as Seifer as an ally, let alone whatever….whatever he was now. How

 had he got to know her so well?

Quistis had never thought of herself as easy to read. It was worrying to suddenly find 

someone who you regarded as insensitive as the common house brick being, well, so 

accurate.   

Seifer gave her a careful look. "I wasn't criticising."

"Makes a change." Quistis muttered. "I wasn't worried."

"Suuure you weren't." Seifer's used his most sarcastic tone of voice. "You always get 

this little sort of wrinkle between your eyes when you're worried about something. 

It's kind of cute."

"If you use that word to describe me again, I will personally disembowel you with the

 cutlery." Quistis hissed. 

Seifer laughed.  "Right."

"Seriously." She picked up her own knife and waved it in front of her, only half-joking.  

Seifer gave the knife a doubtful glance. "Sure. Look, I'm sorry." He flicked the flower

 out of the glass vase, tucked it behind her ear as Quistis made a half-hearted swipe 

at his wrist with the butter knife, and then completely ruined both apology and gesture

 by adding" You know I'm right."

Quistis retrieved the flower from behind her ear. It prickled. It was a weird kind of 

purple colour, spiky and probably poisonous, if Seifer's luck was running in its usual

 direction. She was saved from having to verbally flay him by the sudden arrival of a 

different waiter with their drinks.

Seifer stood up, almost pushing his chair back into the waiter's legs, and disappeared into the direction of what Quistis thought was the bathroom. Tactical retreat.

She turned the flower round in her hands thoughtfully and glanced up at the waiter.

The second waiter was not the most prepossessing creature. He certainly didn't match

 the restaurant décor, which was mainly purple.  There had been a half-hearted attempt

 at evening dress, but the general air was of an undertaker with a bat nailed to his neck.

"Drinks."

"Thanks." Quistis said automatically. The waiter looked surprised and grinned. He 

placed her soda in front of her as if it was made of china and slopped Seifer's beer 

onto the table. As it was in a bottle, it took some doing.

He left without setting a glass beside the bottle.

Quistis could have told the waiter that he was wasting his time if he thought it was 

going to make any difference. Seifer wasn't a glass person. He wasn't a restaurant 

person. He was barely a fork person, come to that.

Quistis wasn't a restaurant person, either, but she faked it better.

The waiter returned to flap halfheartedly at the beer with a cloth.

He bent over the table, trying to peer surreptitiously down the neck of Quistis' dress.

"Would you like anything?"

Quistis crossed her arms over her top angrily. He wouldn't dare come within half a 

mile of her when she was in combat gear. 

_No, but I'm going to need another server when I nail you to the ceiling. _

Her tone of voice could have frozen their drinks. "No."

The waiter tried to brush her arm with the cloth. She ignored it. His body language 

was semaphoring _Can I flirt with you? to anybody watching, but no one who mattered_

 was. 

_It may be difficult with Seifer's hands around your throat, but sure_. _In your_

_ dreams._

Thankfully Seifer still wasn't back. It was quite expensive to get blood out of 

carpets.

The waiter bowed extravagantly, eyes fixed on her breasts, and left.

Quistis muttered _"Asshole_" under her breath at his retreating back. 

She combed the flower between her fingers and then, for no reason that she could 

have given, stuck it back behind her ear again and sent a prayer up to Hyne for 

another waiter just as Seifer returned. She didn't want to have to get medieval on a 

civilian's ass in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It would be messy.

Seifer gave her a hard look as he sat down. "Something the matter?"

"No." Quistis combed her hair back.

He glanced at the flower and shrugged. "About Garden…."

"It's okay."

"Garden, or you?"

"Both." She deliberately interpreted his comment as a licence to talk about her work.

 "Lots of missions. We're making money. Good money. We've got new recruits and 

Galbadia are finally off our backs."

"What're they doing about the GFs?"

Quistis twisted her mouth wryly. "We're only supposed to use them in emergencies. 

With the memory loss and all. They gave us diaries"

"Talk about shutting the stable door." Seifer gave her a contemptuous look. He'd never

 had much time for GF's, Quistis knew.

"They say it'll come back." she said doubtfully.

"In the wars, they said we were going to win."

"We did."

"No, _you_ did. _We lost. "_

 "Thanks for that."

"Don't mention it."

Quistis decided to mention a thought that had been preying on her mind since that 

first day on the docks. "Maybe you should go back."

Seifer didn't say anything. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and 

stuck one in his mouth. She wasn't sure whether he hadn't heard, or whether he was 

just ignoring her. Seifer had a cat's ability to mishear commands, especially ones 

beginning with 'Don't.' 

Quistis shifted in her seat with a sigh, placed a manicured hand on his arm and loudly 

repeated her comment.

Seifer glanced at her, irritably, and then his gaze slid off her and back to the sea.

"Maybe."

The unlit cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down with his words.

Quistis tried again. "At least you wouldn't have to watch your back all the time."

Seifer shrugged. "I'm thinking about it.  Just don't expect me to talk about it yet."

Quistis recognised the tone and added a mental 'and not until Hell freezes over' to 

his sentence. She sighed and sipped her drink with studied elegance.  

The waiter chose that moment to drift over to their table, perhaps sensing the tension. 

"Is everything all right?"

They both spoke shortly and in unison. 

"_Yes._"

The waiter started to turn away and then stopped, turning back round. "Sir?"

His speech was addressed to Seifer but his eyes were fixed like limpets on Quistis' 

breasts. They flicked up to her eyes and then down again. Quistis crossed her arms 

pointedly and then began to tap her fingernails on the plastic table in a manner that 

suggested imminent disembowelment.

"Get lost." Seifer snarled.

Quistis internally groaned. Without even looking at him, she could tell that his body 

language had gone from semi-relaxed to angry. 

She glanced up.

Dead right.

If Seifer really had been a dog, his fangs would be showing and his hackles up. He 

crossed his arms on the table and gave the waiter a flat level stare. 

The waiter swallowed. 

"Uh, sir, this is a non-smoking restaurant. " He made the mistake of smirking down at 

Seifer, and placing a hand on Quistis' chair. 

Quistis casually raised her hand to the seat back and dug her nails in, without looking.

Her manner radiated _Did I accidentally gore you? Oh, sorry. _

 The waiter let go with a muttered curse, red half-moon marks oozing from his palm.

Seifer grinned.

"Please stop smoking, _sir_." The last word was hissed with extreme reluctance. 

"I'm. Not. Smoking."

"You have a cigarette."

"It's not lit." Seifer lowered his hand, which had just been in the process of raising a lighter 

to the unlit fag-end.  

Quistis groaned. Asking nicely, she knew from experience, was just never going to work. 

Stuff the carrot, sometimes you just needed a really big stick. 

"With respect, Sir, this is a non smoking restaurant and if you persist we will have to respectfully

 ask you to take your business somewhere else."

"I'm not."

The waiter pointed at the cigarette. Seifer gave him the finger. 

"Please…" The word was hissed with extreme reluctance.

"Bite me"

"I'd rather not…."

"You'd probably get diseases" Quistis muttered. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the

 table again, but both the men were too busy glaring at each other to notice.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."

"You should be."

"What?"

"Afraid."

Quistis sighed, harder. The waiter gave Seifer a nervous look. Seifer glared back at him. 

Why was she really bothering?

And that of course, was a stupid question. There were a few reasons why she should and

 probably just as many why she shouldn't and right now, watching Seifer snarl at the waiter,

 Quistis could think of more of the latter. She glanced round the restaurant, thanking Hyne

 that they'd chosen a quiet, inconspicuous table near the back.  Even so, people were watching. 

In Quistis's mind, the equation 'People Watching plus Seifer' equalled Bad, shading to 

Very Bad on occasion. 

She scanned the faces. There was a young family in the corner trying very hard not to notice,

doing all they could to stop the kids' faces turning round to stare as if pulled by strings. An 

older couple sat at the next table along. The man had a very upright bearing, probably some

 kind of military officer or off-duty policeman. He sat next to a comfortable woman with dark

 brown hair and the body of a cottage loaf.

The volume beside her increased.

The military man got up, dabbed his mouth neatly with a napkin (fabric, Quistis noted abstractly,

 not a serviette, which was by definition paper) and pushed his chair in. His partner tugged at 

his sleeve and then let him go with a frown, her mouth working furiously, though Quistis couldn't

 hear a word over the argument starting to gather speed beside her.

Near the front of the restaurant, heads were starting to turn. A man in a white jacket she

 assumed was the manager, or at least the boss, was glancing over with an irritated scowl, 

obviously none too pleased with any of them.

The military man halted next to the waiter. Seifer's gaze immediately turned to him. It took a

 couple more seconds for his attention shift to register with the waiter, who swung round. 

Quistis knew by experience that it was very hard to have an argument when the other party

 was facing the other way.

"Can I be of service?"

"Huh?"

"Allow me to introduce myself. Callahan. D Callahan, of the military police.." His voice was

 quiet but clear with a classical Forces accent more used to shouting orders than whispering

 across a room

Quistis noticed that he didn't say _which military._

_Interesting.___

_Worrying.___

"Can I be of service?"

Seifer didn't say anything. He watched the man carefully, probably checking for hidden weapons.

 The waiter, in contrast, puffed up like a courting pigeon. 

"This man…."

"Was just leaving." Quistis broke in. Seifer glared at her. She mouthed.'police'.

The glare did not change.

She sighed.

The policeman gave them all a quizzical glare and said, shortly, "You were disturbing our meal."

The waiter glanced over at the manager's desk, looking slightly worried. Quistis sighed, harder.

_Not many people think they're being an idiot at the same time as they're doing it, simply_

_ because they're too busy being an idiot to notice how much of an idiot they are, in fact, being._

_Very deep.___

Quistis felt in her purse, crumpled out a couple of five gil notes and dumped them on the table. 

Even in the most expensive restaurant, that should be enough for two drinks. She hooked her

 bag out from behind the chair.

"We're leaving."

"We're not."

"We are."

Quistis grabbed Seifer by the arm, dragged him out of the restaurant and down the steps, onto 

the boardwalk and safely along the seafront. He went, reluctantly. Quistis knew enough to 

realise that if he'd been really adamant about staying, she wouldn't have budged him.  

She hissed at him "Don't you know better than to draw attention to yourself in public?"

"And having an argument's out here's better?" Seifer spoke quietly, but the anger in his voice

 hadn't changed.

"This isn't an argument. " Quistis folded her arms and leaned out over the sea wall. The rain

 whipped at her face, warm and not unpleasant.

"Yet. I haven't had time to say anything."

Quistis half-turned to stare Seifer in the face. He raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

 "Alright, I'll, tell you what would have happened." 

Seifer shrugged. He reached for his cigarettes again and tried to strike his lighter in the

 drizzle without success. "He was an asshole. Admit it…"

"Do you have NO survival instincts at all? I can take care of myself!" Quistis bristled.

"So can I."

"You've done such a great job. I can really tell." Sarcasm laced her words like acid.

"It's not like you were complaining or anything. Shit.."

Quistis broke in. "Is there anyone who doesn't want you dead?"

"Why do I get the feeling the number's just increased by one?"

_More like two.._ Quistis thought. Her, and the waiter, oh yes, probably the manager

 and the policeman, too. Not bad, for all of ten minutes. "No idea. You would have 

got into a fight. You might have been arrested. The ending the world thing might be 

finished, but there's still the first-degree murders."

"So?"

"Don't you think maybe that's enough? Hello?" She smacked Seifer on top of the head,

 not hard, and whipped her arms away as he tried to grab her wrist." The rumours 

of your death have been greatly exaggerated? Plus I'll bet a thousand gil you've got

 concealed weapons."

"Don't DO that." A repeat shrug. "So have you. "

"I'm _allowed_."

Quistis had a hard time thinking of her whip as a concealed weapon. It fit neatly into

 the small rucksack on her back and it really wasn't all that concealed, not if you looked.

No one did. She'd almost got used to it.   

Seifer gave himself a critical glance. "You can't see them. "

"Yes, that IS the point of concealed weapons." She threw up her hands. "You are. 

So. Unbelievably. Dumb."

"So? You're screwing someone who's really dumb, what does that make you?"

"We are not lovers." Denial, Quistis thought. It was like the stages of terminally ill 

patients, though at this rate it was going to be a minor miracle if she ever made it to Acceptance. 

"Casual sex partners?" Seifer gave up trying to light his cigarette and threw the lighter 

overarm out into the sea. The light shone on its plastic case for a second before it cleaved

 the dark water with barely a splash and disappeared. 

Quistis said indignantly "If you thought that was all it was."

"Do you want it to be?" Seifer scowled, He had an 'I can't-win expression plastered all over his face.

"Right now? Maybe. "

"Fuck you."

"I did. It was a mistake."

That was the point, they both realised, later, separately, where the conversation passed the

 point of no return. The point at which the coming fight could have been defused by one 

or the other saying. '_ I__ didn't mean it'. Even '_I'm sorry_.' Though it would have been a _

long shot.

No one said anything. __

There was only one way for the conversation to go after that, and that was down.

Seifer narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake." He turned his back

 on Quistis and took a step down the street, away from her.

"Running away again?" she commented nastily.

Seifer swung back. "I Don't. Run Away."

Quistis smiled, slowly, pulling off her verbal gloves. "You could have fooled me."

"It wouldn't be hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Quistis felt anger rise in her. No one insulted her intelligence.

 She slammed both hands down flat on the harbour wall and turned to face him, saw the 

little flare of satisfaction in his eyes that he'd got a rise out of her before he hit back.

"You think you're such a great instructor. You can't even train your hair to behave."

She raised one hand to her head, realised what she was doing and dropped her hands to

 her sides. One moved automatically to her rucksack and she stopped herself with a visible

 effort. The fog was making her hair curl, no doubt. Damn the humid climate, damn the 

waiter, damn him. 

 She snapped back "At least I face up to what I've done."

"At least I'm not a mercenary whore."

_I can't believe he just said that._

_Scratch that, I can believe he said it, I just can't believe he said it to me._

 "Say that again." Quistis' voice was low and angry even to herself. 

"You heard." He gave a slight smirk.

"At least I have a life. You're such an emotional fuckup I'm surprised you get up in the

 morning."

Seifer scowled. He leant back along the sea wall in a deceptively relaxed posture that

 belied his suddenly wary expression. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't know what the hell's going on inside your head half the time. And even

 without all that shit you're an arrogant jerk who doesn't know when he's got it good. 

You did all that stuff and now you're just sitting here in the sun. Do you have any idea of

 how much damage you caused?" 

She could almost see the walls slam up in Seifer's eyes.

 "Trepe, you're like a fucking stuck record. Do you have any idea of how little I care?"

 His voice was angry but not in the least bit penitent. It infuriated Quistis. "Bastard. We

 had to sort out your mess."

"Don't confuse me with someone who gives a shit." Seifer shrugged.

"You disgust me."

"Fine. Go back to Garden. Go back to bloody Leonhart and tell him what a screwup 

I am. I'm sure he'll think it's funny when they crucify me." 

The idea lodged for maybe one second in Quistis' mind. She took a moment to 

admire it before she blew it out of the 

water. "I'll do it myself."

"You weren't saying that this morning." He flicked his cigarettes out of a pocket, 

twisted them round, swore and put them away again, a sign that the argument was

 making him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Seifer often smoked in 

times of stress, but then he also smoked for relaxation as well. About the only time

 she hadn't seen him lighting up was when they duelled.

"Maybe that was before I remembered just how much of a jerk you are." 

You're just got your knickers in a twist' cause you're afraid everyone else'll 

work out you're not quite the frigid ice bitch everyone says you are. Shit, you

 let your walls down, Trepe. Where's your damn mask now? What are you 

going to do?" 

The look on Quistis' face changed from Expression No. Four (Slight Anger, 

manifested only in the slight set of her jaw and steely unblinking stare) to 

Expression No. Twelve (Acute Murderous Rage, characterised by a glare

 that would have done any cobra proud and a slight clenching of the fists.). 

Any normal person would have been several blocks away by now and accelerating.

Seifer didn't move.

Quistis fought down her natural urge to disembowel him and searched her mental

 records for the topics that were virtually guaranteed to piss Seifer off the most.  

Target: Almasy, Seifer.

Distance: One metre, closing.

Distinguishing features: Confidence. Fix target, aim, fire.

She arranged her features into a sweet smile and adjusted her glasses to peer over

 their wire frames. "What makes you think you're so important to me anyway? 

Maybe you're just a summer thing, so I didn't get bored."

Seifer scowled. "Come on. Like I'm going to believe that." But there was just that

 sweet edge of uncertainty in his voice, just for a fleeting second.

Quistis latched on. "Like you said, it doesn't have to mean anything. You're not the

 big shot you always thought you were. You're just a screwup, plain and simple. 

What does it feel like, being a loser?"

 "Fine. Fuck you. I thought you were just sleeping with me to get me back to 

Garden, anyway." 

"_What_?" Quistis was shocked. Shocked that she'd thought they'd want him, still,

 shocked that he still didn't trust her that much, shocked that he thought she'd do 

something like that. She wasn't _Irvine. _

"They say mercenaries do it for money."

"Where'd you get that idea from? Past experience? I am not sleeping with you to

 get you back to Garden. They don't want you. I don't want you. No one wants you."

" I can't believe I bothered saving your life." Seifer shot a look at Quistis' head. 

She lifted one hand to her hair, feeling the faint ridge of a scar bisecting the back 

of her skull beneath the flyaway strands, damp with mist. 

"I can't believe I bothered saving _yours. It's not like you've done anything with it." _

"I almost won."

Quistis' anger became incandescent. Not a good topic to choose, seeing as 'winning'

 could reasonably have been defined as 'killing you and all your friends'. She hit back.

"That means you lost." 

Her shot slid off Seifer's emotional armour. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I will. Okay, you can spend your whole life in prison and you STILL won't have 

done half the time that any justice system in the world is going to land you with. 

Even execution's too easy. Televised, painful execution."

"So you're not exactly a member of my fan club? Join the rest of the world."

"Televised, painful, SLOW execution."

 "Afraid some of the blood on my hands is going to rub off on you, Trepe?

 You're not so squeaky clean."

"I'm leaving, Almasy. I don't have to listen to this bullshit."

"Fine, Go back and bloody worship Squall. You always did like brunettes."

"I don't…" _That hurt. _

_I didn't think anyone knew. _

_Must have slipped on the whole ice-queen thing there.__ Did they all laugh_

_ at me behind my back? Did he?_

 "Come on. Half the Garden knew. You were all over him."

"You're just jealous."

"I wouldn't be jealous of that asshole if you paid me."

"Yeah. How could I have been so stupid? I don't see what you're jealous of,

 after all. After all, Squall got the money and the job and the girl, oh yes, and 

the family, didn't you know?"

She knew it was low.

She didn't care.

From the look on Seifer's face, he hadn't known.

"The president of Esthar is his dad. I don't see why you'd be jealous. He's rich,

 handsome, talented, pretty much the youngest success story the Garden's ever

 had, Rinoa and him are madly in love, he's found his long-lost family….I can't

 see anything for you to be jealous of. What's your family like, Seifer?"

"Fuck you." He looked at her as though he'd never seen her before and never

 wanted to again, swung round and started down the street, muttering something

 she couldn't hear and was glad she hadn't.

 "Running away?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go home and hug a six-pack.  And, you know what? It'd be

 warmer."

Quistis didn't have the energy to follow him, or even to throw a parting comment.

  It was Seifer who left, as usual. 

_I hope you get run over by a bus full of little old ladies, Seifer Almasy._

_Jerk Fuckwit. Arrogant selfserving amoral bastard._

Quistis stayed where she was for a while, radiating anger like the misty fog gathering

 over the water. Eventually she walked back to her hotel room along the seafront, 

wondering where to go.  There really wasn't any point in returning to Seifer's as she

 doubted he'd be there. Her hotel room was almost as featureless as her SeeD room,

 but there wasn't even any work to do.  She could go out, but then she didn't really 

know where to go. So she hesitated half way along the boardwalk, her boots scuffing

 to a stop on the flags. 

There were a few other people around, mostly tourists hurrying to get home, loudly 

indignant that the clouds had dared to rain on their parade.

She leant on the stormwall and stared out over the rainy, grey sea. It reminded her of 

something and she realised it was the morning she'd first met Seifer.    He seemed

 to like looking out over the sea, although staring into the fog Quistis couldn't for the

 life of her think why. It was featureless, grey, and boring. 

She crossed her legs, ignoring the rain, and rested her elbows on the gritty wall. 

She'd never been one for swimming when she was little, and had painstakingly traced

 her fear back to some old movie they'd watched as kids. Edea had hurriedly switched

 it off, but not before the opening credits rolled, by which time one unfortunate swimmer

 had already been chomped in half.

 Quistis had never been one for backing out, either. Being brave, in her black-and-white

 childish world, meant that you did things you were scared of. 

That summer, she swam every day.  By the autumn she'd also realised that you didn't get

 eaten or mysteriously disappeared if you went over your knees in the sea, even at night.

There was never any excuse for being scared.

In her memories the sea was never grey and misty, a prop in a bad horror film, but sparkling

 and blue, warm as flat champagne, though logic told Quistis that it must have been winter at some point.

Memories.

Her memories.

It was like poking a sea anemone with a stick. One minute, she was happily remembering

 without making the connection, and the next it was as if her brain had closed up shut. 

Quistis shoved her hands up into her hair and swore internally, grasping at the cobweb-

thin strands of thought as they threatened to disappear.

Some film, some old film in bad technicolour. The water had been black like liquid oil.

Dammit.

_I slept with him……and I enjoyed it…._

Over the ocean, the mist was closing in, thick as the fog that obscured her thoughts. 

Quistis irritably took her glasses off, polished them on her damp shirt and replaced 

them on her nose. The tourists had fled, leaving her alone on the greying misty street. 

The rain wasn't unpleasant on her skin, the kind of rain that crept up on you slowly, 

waiting till you'd been out a good ten minutes to reveal that, yup, you really were 

soaking wet. Real stalker rain. It was fairly pissing down.

Quistis looked around and a scent caught her nose. It was sharp, cutting through the 

rain smell like a knife through melted butter. It smelt like the air freshener in her hotel 

bathroom.

She squinted in the mist. It was damp enough that little halos of light were coalescing

 around the neon sodium streetlights. Lights in the houses edging the thin concrete path

 of the boardwalk strung traces into rows of fairy lights, welcoming and comforting. 

There was one site, however, where the general air of sparkling well-ain't-I-cute 

kitsch refused to shine. Like a broken tooth in a mouth full of pearly whites, a dark 

shaggy square of pine trees bordered the houses a block ahead. In front of it a pale rectangle

 of sign studded the pavement.

It suited her mood. Right now, Quistis needed some alone time.

Quistis walked over to the wood.

The sign, on closer inspection, revealed the trees to be the Spider Jerusalem Memorial 

Copse, designed and planted by local eighth graders. A path led through the trees like a

 drunken tequila worm, paved by used syringes and final demands.

She walked into the pines. 

Inside the smell of cheap air-freshener scent was stronger, clearing out Quistis' sinuses 

like a brick to the forebrain. Trailing branches brushed her arms, beading them with 

drops that trickled down to her wrists and ran between her fingers like blood. The copse

 was tiny. Four paths led to a rough square in the centre with a bench bordering each side

 and a single street light in the centre. All of the benches were empty, and from the 

square, looking round, Quistis could see street lights glittering through the thin wall of 

trees like cheap Christmas decorations.  

She found a seat and sat, crossing her legs out in front of her and listening to the creak

 and sway of the trees. It didn't even occur to her to be scared. Quistis didn't particularly

 like hurting people, but like everything else she tried, she was effortlessly good at it.  

No one was coming to interrupt.

She didn't really want anyone to. Beg, yes. Interrupt, no.

She replayed snatches of their conversations in her head

He said……

..and then I said…….

……and then he said…..

and _WHY DIDN'T I SAY THAT_, dammit?

and _WHY THE HELL DID I SAY THAT?_

 Spirit d'escalier was a wonderful thing, though Seifer would probably drink it. She'd

 first heard the phrase on a foreign posting, Dollet, maybe. Briefly translated, it meant 

'things you think about when you walk down a staircase that you should have been 

thinking about on the way up.' It fitted this particular moment very well.

A fine mist drizzled on Quistis' skin. 

At the front of her mind was the thought _I should have known something like this _

_was__ going to happen_

Behind that was her inner critic, screaming silently _Why__ were you so stupid? _

And behind _that_, slinking in the darkness of her head like a prizewinning ninja was 

the vague thought _It was good. _
    
    So much for wondering how the hell to explain away her boyfriend to anyone who cared.
    
    So much for thinking maybe a future might happen, somehow, how she didn't' know.
    
    So much
    
    Too much.
    
    Too much stuff. It was clearly never going to work. They had nothing in common 
    
    except for a fairly weird childhood.

CAN, OPEN. WORMS, EVERYWHERE, as Fuujin would have said. If Fujin had

 anything resembling a sense of humour, or indeed any other personality traits apart 

from single word sentences and very nearly unwavering loyalty, anyway…

She sighed and unfolded the paper from her bag, flicked through it. Newsprint crumpled

 and smudged in the dusk, leaving long streaks on Quistis' pale hands and pissing her

 off a treat. 

After page upon grey page of headlines like she was ready to give up, flicking one last 

casual glance over the letters page when a word jumped up and bit her with all the

 force of a runaway piranha.

GARDEN..

"_A large demonstration outside the gates of __Balamb__Garden__ today was terminated _

_when__ the academy prepared for takeoff. _

_A spokeswoman for the crowd, Renee Porelli (34) speaking for the so-called _

_'Children's Liberation Front.' declared 'Their training policies are totally unacceptable._

_ Gardens pretend to offer safety to orphans but they're nothing more then cheap _

_cannon__ fodder.' Examples cited included several training accidents involving field trips_

_ and large animals in which young recruits have been killed or badly injured.  _

_Commander Leonhart (20) was unavailable for comment, though an official _

_statement__ released later today denied all charges.  Similar demonstrations have_

_ been occurring in Trabia and Galbadia. Inside sources state that the organisation_

_ has dispatched threatening letters and crank calls, tied up all the telephone lines_

_ and ordered three thousand pizzas to Balamb headquarters _

_as__ a part of their protest against child indoctrination by the Gardens. The_

_ investigation continues.'  _

There was a small, blurred photo next to it of Balamb's familiar Art Nouveau Frisbee

 outline. The colours ran as she looked at it.

Children's Liberation Front? _Please._

It was time to get back. She was going to have to phone, in the morning, find out

 exactly what was going on. 

It was all right if it was an emergency, wasn't it?

She stifled her inner snark, which was muttering that three thousand pizzas 

wasn't really an emergency. Garden was probably grateful for the extra food.

 It made a change from hotdogs, that was for sure.    Unless they were poison 

pizzas. Exploding pizzas. Ninja pizzas.

Quistis told her inner self to shut up, and not just because the thought of a ninja 

pizza infiltrating Garden was making her forget who to be angry with, and why.

The streets were quiet and wet and empty. Quistis stalked along the tarmac like

 a tiger through a kindergarten. If muggers had been around, they would have 

quietly faded into the background, searching for easier prey. 

They weren't - a blessing in disguise, at least for the muggers.  She reached the 

ornate, faux-eighteenth century façade of the hotel and searched in her bag for the

 doorkey. The building's lights were off, the door securely locked.  

Quistis unzipped her bag and searched for the hotel key. The ornately painted

 and carved hotel sign creaked over her head. In the light of day it showed a 

man with a handkerchief on a stick and an expression of acute constipation.  

She couldn't feel the key anywhere.

This was a surprise. The hotel's keys were two pound lumps of heavy ornate 

cast iron that could probably have been used as quite serviceable weapons. At 

last she yielded to internal pressure, tipped her bag out on the pavement and sifted

through it with an expression of growing annoyance.

It wasn't there.

She was surprised to feel that she wasn't surprised at all. Part of her had expected 

this. Why?

She groped for a recollection. The key had fallen out of her bag. Someone had 

picked it up, but it wasn't her. She could feel the key slip through her fingers, 

landing with a clunk on the floor, remembered seeing a familiar hand, larger than

 hers and with a single pale scar bisecting the skin from knuckle to wrist, scoop

 it up and place it in an equally large and unkempt trouser pocket.

Seifer.

_This night just keeps on getting better and better._

Where was he? Maybe in some bar, getting dead drunk. Quistis didn't care if a

 significant comma was inserted between the words.

No way was she returning to Seifer's not tonight. She'd rather sleep on the streets,

 rather walk all night; at least when he came crawling back in the morning, she'd be

 comfortably, safety asleep.

And from what she knew about Seifer, and the direction he'd been heading when

 she'd last seen him, he probably wasn't at home at all. He'd probably gone straight

 to the nearest bar, and if she'd decided not to go back to his flat, then trawling the

 bars was a definite no-no.

She didn't have a cat in hell's chance of finding him then.

So, return to the stinky flat of Doom and wait it out, go bar-hopping, or sleep out.

There was a small stainless steel grille set into the wall close to the door, with a 

red button. Quistis pressed it, hoping that it was a fourth way. She was tired, and

 she wanted bed. 

The voice that came from the loudspeaker might have been human "We are CLOSED.

 Good night." The speaker slammed off with an emphatic I-really-can't-be-bothered

-and-damn-you-for-ever-waking-me-up click.

Quistis pressed it again, and when there was no answer, leaned on the buzzer.

This time when the mike switched on, she spoke into the grille just as loud as she could.

 "Hello? It's Miss Smith. I've, uh, missed the curfew. And lost my key."

 The voice, behind the static, was acid and sharp as a knife. "You are going to wake 

up the other guests."

"I AM a guest!"

"If you were a guest, you'd have a key. If you do not have a key, you are not a guest." 

Quistus sighed again. The logic of the insane, or the insomniac. Clearly if she was a 

proper guest she'd have a way to get in, and if she couldn't get in then she wasn't 

supposed to so she obviously couldn't be a guest. Q.E.D

She decided to use small words. "I had one. I lost it"

"Key, please."

"Okay, I didn't lose it. I still know exactly where it is."

The silence was accusing. Quistis tugged at the handle, but the door didn't open.

She added, conciliatorily. "I'll go and get it tomorrow."

Briefly, she considered launching a one-woman frontal assault on the hotel for a room

 and then decided against it. She didn't have even a single rocket launcher, for starters.

"We have only one spare key. I can't let you have it in case of an emergency. It says

 in the small print…"

"Please." One of the attributes of a great negotiator, Quistis knew, was knowing

 when to beg.

"Did you know the rules of this hotel permit only one occupant per paid room? 

This is a respectable establisment."

"I know." _Save the lecture. And anyway, it won't be happening again._

"We expect you to keep to that rule."

Quistis felt that this was unfair. Okay, rules were rules, but it was eleven at night,

 and she was a captive audience. "Look, if this is about me and…" 

"I don't appreciate being taken for a fool, Miss Smith." Icicles hung from the syllables.

"I see your point. I've had a bad night."

"I can hear.." This time the tone of voice suggested all kinds of reasons for Quistis 

having a bad night. She could almost feel her cheeks go red. 

"Please. I'll have it back tomorrow."

Silence.

"Look, he's not my cousin, if it makes it any better?"

 "You'll have it back first thing tomorrow. At nine. AM."

Quistis sighed. "Yes. I promise. I'm tired."

Seifer wasn't going to like this at all.

_Good._

In response to html crits and suggestions, if anybody out there was the l33t skillz

 to html format my docs for me, you're welcome to work your magic in return for

 advance previews of SDTC and virtual cookies. In my defence, everything looks

 okay in Word, and now I'm just going to shut up as you've all heard enough bitching

 about my computer to last you several years. Anyway, this chapter was a bitch to write.

 I finished it a day ago and I'm still not very happy with it. The next one is good, though,

 and so's the two after that, which I've partly written. I just like the fun bits.  

References:   The Spider Jerusalem Memorial Park is in homage to the comic 

Transmetropolitan by Warren Ellis and Darick Robertson which has now finished. 

Spider's very like my Seifer, only with even more anger issues and considerably more

 skill in words' the only man who could ever wake up from a hangover having had all

his tattoos removed' RIP. Spirit d' Escalier is a real French phrase, and means pretty

 much what I said it does. 

Reviews: Altol (WOW! You still go down in my book as the only fanfic writer I've 

read who's had the guts to write a scene where the main character can't get it up, though

  Kudos. I salute you. Does that mean that you're planning F&I smut then?) Amber Tinted

 ( thanks. You can tell it's not a porn movie as they're not wearing fake moustaches.),  

Ghost140(They slept together. I never said ANYTHING about love…), Kit Spooner

( thanks a lot. See above, if you're offering. I know that there's problems, but I really 

don't know how to fix them. I have enough problems with the writing.) Mana Angel 

(Thanks for a really thoughful review.  Sleeping with the enemy..sex IS only the beginning.),

 nynaeve88 (Oh, God.That kind of stuff makes me cringe.I'm certainly not writing it.  

Also my sis is my beta and I don't want to make her vomit on my keyboard.)  Rast 

(I'm impressed*sends caffeine pills* Fanfiction is my drug of choice, am currently 

obsessionally reading The Sith Academy's Star Wars stuff. (siubhan.com) It's addictive, 

I tell you. I'd give you a list of all the webcomics/sites/ff authors that I love, but it would

 take too long) seatbelts ( Thanks for the holiday wishes, d00d. I don't have any strong

 beliefs, though I'm kind of a lapsed Methodist who goes to church for the carols. Or

 rather, I believe in lots of things, many of them impossible),  sulou (Come on board. 

Have a cookie.:D ) superviolinist (Heh.Ta. The 'Sex! Sex! Before she changes her

 mind!' bit is actually my sister's from her beta/crit/MST of SDTC before I post. I

 love my sister very much, and it made me laugh) and Technoelfie (thanks a lot. 

Happy New Year to you all.   

This chapter was brought to you by the Freud-tastic film Peter Pan and The Spider 

Jerusalem Trouser Conversation. 

kate ( there's no foot in this sock but there's candy, and sometimes it's filled with small toys(small toys!)   


	8. Chapter Eight: Sleeping With Myself Toni...

Chapter Eight: Sleeping With Myself Tonight 

Thanks, that was fun,

Don't forget, no regrets.

Said maybe one, made a deal, not to feel

God, that's dumb.

Everybody knows the deal fell through,

I was hoping I could just blame you.

When was it that I became so soft?

This sentimentality doesn't look good on me

I thought that you would be begging to be with me,

I'm the one on my knees begging you please let me stay.

Barenaked Ladies: That Was Fun

It's four o'clock in the morning…

Damn it!

Listen to me good….I'm sleeping with myself tonight

Elton John-Someone Saved My Life Tonight

 The pic for this chapter should be up at blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images dot game dot jpg.  Enjoy. It's kind 

of a hundred reviews thing. Also, the minicomic that you couldn't

see earlier has now been fixed and is up at blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images dot habits1 dot png and habits2 dot png.

Thanks for your patience.

The weird writing is just so it shows on the ff.net formatting.

Neon lights glowed in the rain and reflected gaudily in the puddles.

 Seifer's boots splashed through them, soaking his trousers. A sign

 above his head read:  The Bar None.

_Bar none? Well, let's see if they'll bar _me_._

It looked like his kind of place, and that meant the sort Quistis

 wouldn't enter in a million years. The lighted letters flickered

 erratically in the rain with a soft hiss that threatened imminent

 execution, reflections of blue sparks and pink neon shattering

 and reforming under his feet. In the resulting unearthly glow, 

the bar didn't look exactly welcoming, but it beat going back 

home or wandering round until the morning hands down.

A smeared 'twenty-one and over ONLY.' sign decorated the 

door in front of him right next to one reading' please do not

 ask for credit, because a punch in the mouth often offends.' 

Seifer ignored it. He pushed the door open and looked round.

The word that first came into his head was _dive._

A long bar took up most of the length of the room, propping up

 a few people. The pub didn't look like the kind of place that

 would ever be packed out, a men's bar in the best sense of the

 word, for those who liked their beer cheap, their knuckles

 tattooed and their women horizontal. The specimens sitting

 at the bar looked like they'd descended from orangoutans.

 A couple of them turned round as he came in, and stared at

 him for longer than was polite. 

So- a _local_ bar.

Fuck it. 

He just wanted a drink, maybe several, and whoever got in

 the way of him and a bottle of something that you could 

also clean spoons with was going to regret it.

He tramped up to the bar, hunting in his pocket for money

 and dripping water.  If anything, it made the floor slightly

 cleaner, revealing black and white check lino that made his

 boots squeak like dying mice. 

None of the men sitting on the stools seemed very happy

 about having a soaking stranger in their midst. The reception

 wasn't freezing, but it was damn cold for June and for a 

second Seifer nearly rethought.

But what the hell. 

If he'd been using his brain cells, he wouldn't be in here.

He leant forwards to seek the barman, and someone dressed

 in a greasy apron flapped a cloth at him and then continued

 with his conversation. Seifer chose to interpret the cloth as 

'be over in a minute.' rested his elbows on the counter and 

looked around.

Nice. 

From what he could see through the smoke, the décor spoke. 

It said "Beer.  Now. Cheap. Fast.  And who the hell you calling

 fat, anyway?  You want a piece of this?"

Dim light, cracked mirrors and dirt seemed to be the order of

 the day. 

The surroundings were reassuringly and drearily familiar in a

 nasty sort of way.  Hell, it had been a while. He hadn't been

 to pubs much since Marduk, preferring to buy cratefuls of 

cheap weak beer from the local market than use what little

 money he had on spirits. And in the woods, there hadn't 

been anything to buy.

He _needed_ this. 

_Damn the woman._

A gravelled voice cut into his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"I'll have a double whisky-no, make that two doubles. Hell,

 make that a bottle." 

The barman raised an eyebrow and held out a nicotine-stained

 hand. Seifer placed a crumpled twenty-gil note in it. 

The hand stayed out. 

Seifer scowled and asked irritably "How much does whisky

 cost round here?", but he knew the answer even as the words

 left his mouth. It was a seller's market in a small town like

 Hana when all the liquor shops closed at nine, and a fast 

search through his pockets revealed nothing but lint. He 

rephrased. "What can I get for a twenty?"

The barman shrugged, a gesture that moved his shoulders

 to somewhere above his head. "Whisky. Just less whisky 

than, if you had, say, thirty-five." 

 _I haven't. "What kinds you got?"_

"If you have to ask, you don't need a drink badly enough." 

"Fine." He sighed. "Whatever."

_What a night. _

The click and rumble of pool balls echoed blurrily in the 

background between the sound of rain against windows 

and a TV droning sports scores to anyone who was listening.

 Despite it all, the atmosphere was tense.  This definitely 

wasn't the kind of place you got nice girls in. Nice girls, 

nice men, or nice beer. Nice was not in its description, anywhere.  

"Here." The barman slid a glass and bottle across the table

 and dumped a small pile of change next to it.  A man of few

 words, obviously. 

The container was dusty and about the size of a small milk

 bottle. The label read, incredibly, Happy Salmon Whisky

 and featured a picture of a smiling fish on it, just like the

 restaurant logo. The coincidence made Seifer wonder where

 the hell Quistis had gone until he remembered that he wasn't

 supposed to care.  

 He picked up the bottle and made his way to a shadowed

 empty table where he could sit with his back to the wall and

 his eyes on the room. Not that he was looking for trouble, 

but if it found him, he'd best be prepared. 

And Seifer really wasn't in the mood for talking to anyone.

He dragged a hand over his face and slumped down in his seat,

viewing the room through half-closed eyes. The dim lights along

 the bar and hanging shaded over snooker tables in the back

 were the only illumination, making it hard to work out how

 many people were actually in the room and turning the 

whisky into smoky amber glass. 

Stupid bitch. He could take care of his damn self.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, it was what he did. 

Twenty damn years of pushing people as hard away as he 

could reach -with a few exceptions, and then, bam!

Miss-fucking-Most-Organised-Trepe had to come in and

 screw it all up.

Literally.

Seifer laced his hands around the neck of the bottle and 

stared through it, watching the bar through the amber 

fish-eye lens. It was a slight improvement, but he wasn't

 drunk or masochistic enough to enjoy the view. He wasn't

 nearly drunk enough yet, or even at all, but the bartender had

 thoughtfully taken the cap off the bottle so it was only a matter of time.  

The bar felt suddenly alien around him, cold and desperately

 lonely after the last few companiable days. It had been 

reassuring, having someone else to talk to. Someone who

 knew what real life was like. 

For a given value of real, anyway.

And the sex had been great.

Seifer's train of thought ran pleasantly along predictable tracks

 for a few seconds before he pulled it up short, remembering the

 look on Quistis' face when he told her she'd just slept with him

 as part of some mission or other.

_Yeah. Like I'm going to get any of that again_. 

The memory of the restaurant made him wince slightly, words

 sounding harsh and cruel, and above all, damn stupid.

She'd said _"What does it feel like, being a loser?"_

 And he'd been angry, too angry that she still thought that, 

knowing that he wasn't making any kind of success of his life

 like he'd always wanted to, knowing that he'd wanted to, that

 the truth hurt. 

He'd said he'd hoped she'd die, somewhere along the line.  

Hyne, I sound like my _father_. 

Quistis's last barbed comment had cut deeper than he cared to

 admit and not for the first time Seifer wondered whether it 

really had been such a great idea to avoid GFs. Was a family

 you couldn't remember worse than one you couldn't forget?

_I was five. _

_I shouldn't remember any of it by now. Lots of people don't_

_ remember much from when they were kids._

_Lucky me._

_Heh__._

The bottle clinked on the edge of the cup as he tilted it to slosh

 whisky in the bottom. The glass was cracked and dirty with 

fingerprints but Seifer didn't care. The rain, the dingy bar, the

 cheap whisky, it all seemed to belong in some masochistic way.  

_Ah well....Here's to Quistis, and here's to Rinoa, and here's_

_ to that damn _hero_ Squall, and Dad, may you rot in your grave,_

_ here's to you too. _

_Bastard._

The whisky gleamed in the dim light as he drank to them all

 and slumped back again in his seat, coughing as the warmth

 of the spirit burned down to his belly. It made him shiver,

 banishing the chill clinging of his damp clothes in the bar

 air conditioning.

Seifer glanced at the bottle with a new respect. Rough as hell.

Perfect.   

He poured himself a second glass and checked out the local 

talent through half-closed eyes. It wasn't what you might call

a class act. A few booths on the opposite wall housed a group

 of hard-drinking biker types, all greying mullets and misspelled

 tattoos. There were a couple of older men, obviously locals,

 drinking alone and with a kind of damp dogged determination

. He could have come in any night of the week, and they'd be

 there, same table, same glass of beer, same paper, same people.

As for the rest, there was little of interest. 

_Wait._

There was one more customer seated across from the booths,

 half-hidden by a wild snooker table seen in its natural state, 

grazing peacefully on carpet.

Seifer watched her in sober boredom. She sat next to a booth

 full of biker types, but she didn't act as if she was with them. 

Just a girl, wearing an aggressively too-short skirt teamed with

 precariously high heels.  She hung onto the stem of her glass 

like it was some kind of life preserver, a detail Seifer could 

sympathise with. The men had nothing of interest about them,

 from the casual way they chatted with the bartender they were

 obviously regulars, but they weren't drinking much.

The girl was. A lurid green cocktail sat in front of her with a

 small paper umbrella resting against its sugar-encrusted glass.

  The liquor matched her eye shadow, top and hair clips. While

 the men talked amongst themselves, she scanned the room 

with a bored glazed gaze, painted eyes half-closed. Her

movements were relaxed and slightly uncoordinated, and

 Seifer had been drunk himself too many times not to know

 what it looked like.

The men at the table behind her didn't seem to have noticed,

 or if they had, they certainly didn't care. They talked as the

 girl tapped her fingers on the table, regarding them all with

 the same kind of bored intoxicated tolerance as she showed

 the rest of the room. Lose the clothes, the hair extensions 

and about half a pound of makeup and she'd probably be pretty

 enough, but there was no comparison to Quistis. 

Seifer drank.

The night moved on.

Eventually his eyes were drawn to a flicker of movement in the

 corner as the girl staggered up from the tables. Her apparent 

incoordination could have been due to the shoes, the drink or a

 mixture of both.  For a second her eyes met his, and she smiled,

 a wide, pleased, and utterly genuine grin.

 Seifer averted his gaze quickly. He didn't need this kind of trouble

…..well, trouble or not, he just didn't need it.

_Got expensive tastes now? _his brain needled. 

The girl continued on her unsteady way to the bathroom without

 looking back.

Damn. Quistis had given him _standards for Hyne's sake. _

And even worse-morals.

He returned to his drink. 

_You're getting careless._

_Not as much as I'll be after this._

The stale smell of nicotine, sweat and beer was comforting and 

uneasy at the same time, shades of the Garden dorms after another

 late night student party. The house on the sands had smelled just the same. 

_Sins of the fathers. _

_Not like that. It's not like that if there's a reason._

He'd never drank much in Garden, been far too together for that. 

He'd had other things to do, and drinking just to get drunk had been

 a waste of precious and expensive booze. The real serious shit had

 started in Marduk, back when he'd had money, not much to spend it

 on and nightmares or flashbacks or memories almost every night. He'd

 bought the first bottle out of desperation and bravado, drank three

 quarters of it, thrown up, passed out, and woken up the next morning

 lying on the floor fully clothed and with one hell of a hangover.

And for a whole twenty four hours, no dreams. 

It was called associative learning. And it worked. 

 It worked _well. _

Two weeks later he'd been away down the Road To Alcoholism,

 moving fast and going nowhere.

He'd experimented with just about everything you could drink and 

some things he hadn't know you could. It wasn't experimenting if

 you did it all the time.__

Seifer sank the glass, and then absently poured himself another one

 while doodling with his finger on the table top in stale beer. Like all

 of the other crap in the bar, it didn't match, old, scratched and

 obviously secondhand. Keys of all different shapes and sizes were

 baked into its clear plastic top. He stared at them.

Quistis.

_Man, was that ever one bad idea_, he thought, but it even felt half-hearted

. Like he wasn't going to make himself believe it, no matter how

 hard he tried.

He liked her. 

_Dammit._

More than that-he trusted her. Despite the words and the arguments

 and the bitching and the little glasses, there was something unshakeably

 honest about Quistis, and Seifer hadn't many people he really, 

honest-to-Hyne, cross his heart-and-hope-to-not-die trusted.  Drawing

 in the table-top beer, he made a mental list in the interests of self-analysis.

 Hell, if he was going to get nastily and depressingly drunk anyway,

 why the hell not do it properly and _really_ wallow in the guilt?

The rain drummed on the windowpane, blue smoke curling round the

 bar ceiling in a smog. Seifer felt automatically for cigarettes and lighter

 before remembering that he'd thrown his lighter in the harbour, probably

 while trying to make some kind of dumb point. He decided that one

 poison was enough for the night.

_Maybe later. _

The list.

Edea, first and foremost. Almost-but-not-quite-mother, seeing as

 how at that age he'd already been taught way too well that getting

 close to people was A Bad Idea, in capitals. Cid, too, he guessed. 

Maybe not. 

Rinoa. Sweet idealistic big-eyed Rinoa, his summer girl. Gone now,

 of course. 

Raijin. Fuujin. His posse, and if the relationship had never been 

entirely equal, who the hell cared as long as they didn't? 

And now Quistis. Who probably hadn't even drunk anything other

 than organic mineral water in her health-freak perfect life. Little 

Miss Brainy.  

It was either a minor Act Of Hyne, or one big unmitigated fucking

 disaster, depending on your point of view. Plus, of course, he'd 

fallen so hard in lust that it was a miracle he hadn't made a hole in

 the bloody carpet. The hair.  The legs. Damn, the whole body. The

 way she kissed, like she was going to be tested on it later. 

But then there had been pretty girls before. There were always 

pretty girls. 

The difference between them and Quistis was that they didn't know

 who the hell he was, and she did, and she still liked him, maybe did

 a whole lot more, and how the hell rare was that? 

And she had an IQ greater than a stunned hamster, of course. Maybe

 a lobotomy was the answer. 

The only problem there was, the only person he knew who might

 conceivably have any idea of how to do brain surgery was Quistis

 herself, so it was really a non-starter. 

_Pros: Legs. Body. Knowledge of self as criminal. Live. Willing.   _

_Cons: scarily intelligent, asks too many awkward questions, CLEAN LIVING (underlined)_

The equation didn't really add up.

_Beautiful. A good fighter.  S__eriously smart. _

Her tutors had still used her as a shining example in Seifer's lessons,

 three years later. Of course, it hadn't been helped by the fact that she

 _was one of his tutors, by then. Quistis Trepe, super brain. Of course, _

they were probably using Seifer, as an example, now. More of a 

cautionary tale, really.   He seemed to recall that he'd told Leonhart

 he wanted to be remembered once. 

_Be careful of what you wish for-you might just get it._

Right now, if he was really honest, he wanted Quistis., and had done

 for a while, if he admitted it to himself. Oh, sure, there had been the

 usual predictable teenage crushes but pretty soon, he'd figured, she'd

 get around to him and he could have fun turning her down. The only

 thing was, she didn't. With anyone.

It had been annoying and frustrating and damn unnatural.

And then he'd had it.

Now he hadn't.

Simple as that. But then all of Seifer's mistakes had, at one time, or

 another, seemed simple. 

He realised that he needed another drink, and suited the action to the

 thought, feeling vague surprise that the bottle was already half empty.

  Or half full. There was some kind of crappy fortune cookie personality test associated with that but he couldn't remember for the life of him what it was.

Heh, The one thing he _couldn't remember._

And he wasn't feeling anywhere near drunk enough to forget yet.

 Either this was some half-assed bottle of whisky, or he was in the 

"it hasn't hit, has it?" stage of drunkenness still. Depressed and angry,

 well, those things went for granted, but he still didn't feel really wrecked. 

This was dangerous, Seifer knew from experience, He started to

 think more, but then he couldn't think properly. Nothing felt quite

 as bad as being drunk and sorry for yourself. It was bad enough just

 being one., and Seifer definitely preferred the first.

It used to be some much easier back in Garden. He'd just slope off to

 the training centre and hack up whatever was there into small pieces 

until he felt better.

And after that, he'd been told pretty much what to think.

And he hated that, hated remembering that which was pretty well why…why everything, if you really thought about it.

But now he still wasn't drunk or brainwashed or committing random

 acts of violence on small furry creatures with big eyes, and the barriers

 were crumbling between what was now and what had been then.

Despite the knowledge that bits kept getting mixed up, that maybe

 he was just remembering remembering and it wasn't all he had

 thought it had been,  the bottom line was: things has still happened

 that shouldn't.

He'd never slept easy before the wars, and after them he just hadn't

 slept. 

Vaguely Seifer wondered if the reason he got such bad dreams the

 nights he slept and didn't drink was because he avoided the topic

 so much of the time. But there were some things no one needed to

 think about, even him. 

Especially not him.

He rested his head on his hands.

Getting drunk here really wasn't the answer to his problems. 

He should have gone after Quistis, apologised, bitten his tongue

 a couple of times and he could be in bed, with her, right now.

  Making up by making out.

In bed with Quistis. 

How the hell had that happened? 

Why had he fucked it up?

Did he have some kind of subconscious masochism that 

hijacked relationships with women just as he reached the 

serious let's-talk-about-your-feelings stage? Or even the 

talking stage?

Why wasn't he good enough for her?  

The thought was an unfamiliar one for Seifer. Despite evidence,

 he rarely felt like he was better than everyone else. He _knew_

 he was better than everyone else. On the planet.

It was a pity that the rest of the planet seemed to want him 

dead, and he'd just pretty much alienated the one person who

 didn't. 

He sank another glass. Mistakes as stupid as he'd made deserved

 a toast.  The drink wasn't going to solve anything, especially

not being poor, but it might give him more immediate problems

 for a while. 

But one thought still kept creeping in, slithering under the doors

 of his mind, as always. It was the kind of thought you couldn't

 escape from, the kind of thought that alcohol attracted like a

 moth to a lightbulb. Quistis was one thing. This was another.

_Why?_

_Why life?_

_Why now?_

_Why me?_

_Why anything?_

_ But, ultimately, ultimecia-ly, hehe,  why Edea?_

Seifer had so far managed to imagine several million answers 

in the two years since the wars, the offspring of half a hundred late

 night drunks like this one. There were so many answers, ranging 

from the wussy 'I don't remember', to the whiny She Made Me Do

 It, which he rejected out of hand, because if the only thing you

 had was a bad reputation you might as well use it.

 _I don't know._

_Because shit happens, get over it._

In a way he was afraid, he guessed, afraid that all he could think

 about, after the fall, was 'Man, that was _some_ fucking view.' 

Afraid that he'd do it again, afraid that someone would find out

 he was afraid. Afraid that someone might get close enough to 

maybe tell.

_Congratulations. I don't think she'll bother now._

_As if I wanted her to anyway._

_Bitch._

There was about one inch of whisky still left in the bottle when

 someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

It was a woman. More precisely, it was the woman he'd seen 

over the bar earlier, returned back from the bathroom.  

She heaved a theatrical sigh that whistled round the empty glasses,

 and the movement made her precariously balanced breasts threaten

 to spill out onto the table. Seifer watched with drunk fascination,

 half-wondering whether they would jump right out onto the table 

and make a break for Silicon Valley. Maybe he should offer to put

 them back in. That could not be comfortable.

His head hurt. 

"Whatsa matter?" Her voice was husky from too much smoke and

 alcohol. 

Seifer wasn't in the mood. His black temper had solidified into 

something that he could almost touch, a dark cloud that he 

sucked in with each mouthful of cheap whisky.

And he'd rarely felt less like getting laid. "You. Piss off." 

"Touchy, touchy." She slid onto the nearest free seat. "Mind if

 I sit down?"

"Yes."

She pulled the chair closer and crossed her legs, exposing a good

 inch of pale thigh between skirt and stockings.  "My name's Jade. 

What's yours?"

Seifer mentally inserted _'and these aren't real'_ into the conversation.

 "Look, there's really no damn point being nice to me. I haven't got 

any money.  I don't want to sleep with you. Leave me alone."

"I never said anything about that." The girl ran a hand down her

 leg, straightening her stockings.

"Like hell." Seifer poured another drink. He drank it.

"What rattled your cage?" Jade,  if that was really her name, which

 Seifer doubted, moved closer. Her breasts brushed his arm and 

Seifer, irritated, slammed the glass down.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Funny you should say that."

"Great.  A hooker.  I told you, I'm broke."

The girl gave him a big smile and moved closer, sliding a hand

 across the top of his glass. " I think you've had enough. You're

 cute." Her speech, too, was slightly slurred, and her breath smelt

 of limegreen liquor.

Seifer glared muzzily at her. "Piss off. I want my whisky." 

Part of his mind told him she was right, because the bar was

 beginning to fuzz slightly at the edges. A second part shouted

 that what it really wanted was more drink. And another part, 

slyly, noticed that the girl really wasn't all that unattractive, 

beneath six layers of foundation and five of mascara. Or maybe

 it was the beer glasses talking.

He narrowed his eyes and squinted harder. 

_Yup, definitely the beer glasses talking._

"Now that isn't the way to talk to a lady." 

"I might be worried if you were one." Seifer went back to 

drawing in the tabletop beer.  

The girl giggled, not offended at all. "Nothing wrong with that.

  More fun that way. Want to have some fun?"

"No_." Look, I'm not here to have fun, I'm here to nastily drink_

_ my way into an alcoholic stupor while reminiscing about my_

_ past acts of minor genocide and my sort-of-ex sort-of-girlfriend,_

_ so piss off._

"Aaaa, don't be like that." She snuggled closer, if possible, and 

placed her hand on his arms. Seifer shook it off.

"Look, your paying customers……I mean, boyfriends must be

 wondering where the hell you are.  Why don't you go hassle them?"

"You're no fun." The girl pouted and hitched up her top. The 

movement made her breasts jiggle interestingly. He remembered

 Quistis saying something about that once, ages ago, something 

like if you could see a line all the way around the breast they had

 to be implants. He'd put it down to jealousy at the time, and done

 more research. 

"I'm smiling inside." 

"I can't see you!" She giggled triumphantly and pointed one pink

 glue-on-fingernail at him.

"What are you ON?" 

Her nails brushed the back of his head.

Seifer shivered. "Get off."

He reached for the glass and she took her hand off his arm, only

 to replace it, a moment later around his shoulders. It was like 

being groped by an octopus. 

That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy it, even a small bit. That she

 really wasn't all that bad and her perfume really was kinda nice

 and yes, she really was wearing stockings…__

The girl, Jade, pressed up against him. She picked up the whisky

 bottle and took a swig, her mouth twisting. "Shit, that stuff was 

rough."  She wiped her hand across her mouth. 

Seifer bent forwards to wrest the bottle off her, because dammit,

 it was his whisky.

Jade leant forwards to hitch her stockings up at the same time, his

 chin hit her nose, not hard, and then her lips his mouth.

 It was an awkward, clumsy, wrong kiss, tasting of smoke and 

alcohol. It was like being kissed by a washing machine. It was like

 getting off with someone you really didn't like, or even care

 about, just because they were there and you were drunk and 

shit happened. 

The best thing that could be said about it was that it was thorough.

Seifer broke it off, swore, washed his mouth out with the last shot

 of whisky and pushed the girl away. He stood up, simultaneously

 pushing the table away and moving away from Jade. Half of his

 brain was frantically trying to decide what to do next, and the 

other half reeling in amazement that he'd actually managed to get up. 

One thing seemed very clear. He didn't want this. He didn't 

need this, and he was damned if he was going to wake next to

 someone he didn't know and then be willing to chew his own 

arm off to get the fuck out. 

There was a cigarette machine by the door to give him the excuse

 he needed, and a handful of change from the twenty to use in it.  

Jade was sprawled across his table and the remaining two chairs,

 looking drunker than was sensible. Her eyes were half-closed,

 her hair straggling into the spilt beer while her mascara trailed 

twin greasy slicks down her cheeks.  She didn't notice when he

 left, retreating as quietly as he could manage across the bar's 

squeaking lino floor.  The whole bar seemed to have a cigarette

 smouldering in ashtrays in front of them or held loosely between

 two fingers, and the smell of the nicotine was making Seifer jumpy.

He wound up by the bar vending machine, feeding blurry coins 

with suddenly clumsy hands and pressing random buttons until a 

small white packet rattled into the basket. A quick enquiry at the

 bar produced a lighter and used up the remainder of his money 

and a few steps across the floor took him out into the rain.

He stood under the shelter of the bar door for a while, staring at the

 weather. Water flooded gutters and melted the town's ever present

 underfoot dust into a thin layer of fine mud that glistened in the

 lights. The packet of smokes he'd bought from the vending 

machine turned out to be Carcinoma Angels instead of his favourite

 Lucky Strikes, which darkened Seifer's mood further. Still, he

 lit one anyway and moved out from under the shelter of the

 bar. The rain prickled coldly against his skin, more mist now

 than anything else. It was a pity, because he was in the mood

 for a really big typhoon.  The kind with weather warnings.

_If I'm damn miserable, everyone else might as well have it _

_bad too._

_Bastards._

He was about half way home, keeping to the relative shelter 

of overhanging awnings and other people's doorways, when 

he heard voices behind him. He wasn't sure what time it was.

 Late, anyway. The cigarette, his second, was about halfway 

burned down.    

The voice sounded both mocking and familiar.

"Down and out again, Matthews?"

Seifer was about to retort 'Who the fuck is Matthew?' before

 it dawned on him that it would be extremely unwise.

He recognised the shape coming toward him, anyway. There

 couldn't be too many people in Hana that looked like a 

weather balloon in full sail.

Lou.

Seifer had second thoughts. _It's a pity I didn't tell you my_

_ real name, because then I'd have to kill you. In Marduk,_

_ I charged five hundred gil for that, but I'll take out you for_

_ free._

He ignored the older man, leaning back against the wall and

 cupping the cigarette in his hands to protect it from the rain. 

The movement turned him away from Lou and gave him a 

precious extra fix of nicotine before his smoke at last 

succumbed to the weather. 

"Whatsa matter? Your girl dump you?"

_Have I got a fucking sign on my forehead?_

Seifer flicked his smouldering cigarette into the gutter with

 irritation. He watched it float down to the nearest drain 

where it disappeared, still smoking, from sight. 

"At least I have one."

He turned, masking a stagger with the ease of habit, self-

preservation and long practice. A couple of seconds later he

 leaned one arm against the wall to stop the street spinning.

As soon as he could focus Seifer got his second nasty surprise

 of the night.

Lou wasn't alone. 

Seifer stifled a swearword.

Lou stood about a foot away, rain running off him like the

 dumpster a few feet away in the alley. The streetlights shone

 off his bald head and neatly outlined the silhouettes of three

 other men standing right behind. The nearest was just as big

 as Lou, thickset and pretty much bald. They all stared at 

each other for a second.

Like the protagonist in some old movie, Seifer began to have

 a bad feeling about this. 

Lou smirked, as far as Seifer could see in the rain. His body

 language was relaxed, though trying to read intention off 

Lou was like trying to analyse the Michelin Man. 

"Kid got dumped. Too fucking bad."

_Kid._

_I knew not actually stabbing him on the boat was a mistake._

_I didn't even look like a kid when I was one._

He scowled at Lou. "At least I don't have to pay for it."__

Lou didn't look quite so happy. "There's lots of women 

who'd want to get a piece of this." He patted his stomach,

 which rippled rather like a blancmange.  

"Only during food shortages."

"Screw you."

_Witty._

The sensible thing would have been to turn and walk away, 

but then Seifer had never even pretended to be sensible. 

The drink did nothing to help matters. 

"One tip, the Trabia Hospital For The Blind's only a couple

 of miles away. Maybe you should try that."

Lou growled. He looked Seifer up and down, critically, in a

 way that vaguely reminded Seifer of Quistis, Of course, after

 the events of the previous evening,  pretty much everything was

 beginning to remind him of Quistis.  The girl at the bar.  The

 whisky logo. The rain. Everything.

"Finding it hard to get a job, since Mike fired your ass.?" His

voice was taunting. 

"I'll never have enough to pay someone to date you." 

It would have been funny if he hadn't been so drunk. Bloody

 typical.  

"He thinks he's funny."

"You think you're funny, kid?"

_Kid._

_I've earned the right to be tried as an adult, the least they could_

_ do is let off with the kid thing._

Seifer leant back against the brick wall, pretending an outer ease

 he certainly didn't feel, and said "What the fuck do you want?"

Lou said "We don't want anything. It's just a happy coincidence

 that we all seem to be on a night out." 

"Fine with me." Seifer slid off the wall and balanced a palm 

against the bricks, turning his back on Lou. 

This put his eyes on about the level of the nearest man's chin.

"Going somewhere?"

"I would be if you'd just get the hell out of my way." 

"We just want a friendly chat."

"Tough." Seifer concentrated on speaking coherently. He

wandered to the side at the same time, reaching for his lighter

 in the pocket of his jeans. The half-hearted effort at escaping was 

blocked by one of Lou's seemingly interchangeable friends/

minions/paid thugs who moved to the left, cutting off his exit 

route. Their expressions were slightly warier than Lou's, maybe

 picking up something in his attitude that the fisherman hadn't

bothered to notice. 

They still didn't hesitate to block his way. Just another dead-

drunk kid with no mates. 

He snarled. "Back.  The hell.  Off."

Seifer could see what was coming. And right now his train of 

thought was heading to Sudden Imminent Violence with stops

 at platforms Steal All Your Money and Run. 

He glanced round.

He still didn't know where the fuck he was, apart from a vague

feeling that he'd been heading through the town centre in the 

direction of home. There was a pub open across the street and

 from the lights and music coming from the windows it looked

as if a lock-in was in progress. A couple of pale blurs of faces 

peered through the window, but the street was dark and it was 

unlikely that anyone who cared was going to see unless he 

crashed through the plate glass window. 

Seifer hadn't expected anyone to. What went around came around,

 and he'd sure as hell watched a lot of brawls in Marduk 

without lifting a finger to intervene.  An eye for an eye, a 

tooth for a tooth, and give as good as you get until the cops 

arrive.

They weren't going to do anything, except maybe take bets. 

And right now, he wouldn't have taken odds of a hundred to 

one that he'd win. The men were big.  All four of them, and 

Seifer was uncomfortably aware that he was drunk. Not really

 knocked-down-drug-out-can't-remember-what-day-of-the-

week-it-was-drunk, but drunk enough for the men to notice 

and for professional fat-bastard Lou to think him an easy target. 

Drunk enough to slow his usually excellent reflexes and blur

 the edges of sight and speech.

Drunk enough to die….

When outnumbered, drunk and unarmed, what was the sensible

 thing to do? Well, first, never get into a situation like it, and two,

 tactical retreat.

So much for Quistis's 'normal people don't carry weapons, Seifer'

 spiel. He'd left both his knives at home, and right now they

 would have been really useful, if more of a deterrent than a

 real threat. He didn't intend to get pulled in by the cops for 

anything so small.  

_She's so going to get it in the morning._

_There isn't going to be a morning, at least not with her. _

_That's why you're like this._

Since when was it so hard to concentrate?

His last remaining brain cell snarled _'since you just drank an_

_ entire bottle of whisky, dumbass_', and then gave up the ghost.

_I'm so screwed.._

The thought cut through his alcohol-furred brain with sobering

 force. Lou, as an obstacle, measured exactly zero on Seifer's 

Threatening Scale, but three other guys his size rated considerably

 higher and the alcohol made up the remainder of the equation.

The sensible part of his brain was telling him to run. The drink

 was telling him to fight. 

Okay…..

Rain prickled coldly on his skin, starting a chill that seemed to 

sweep right up to the roots of his hair and left him feeling not

 quite sober. 

When outnumbered and outgunned, the sole advantage left was

 the element of surprise. Start with a fight you can win.

His gaze flickered over faces. The obvious weak link was Lou, 

whose shit-eating grin was making Seifer's fists itch. He looked

 like he was enjoying the sport, obviously expecting Seifer to 

shout, apologise or show some kind of fear. Some luck. 

_Sorry. I don't work that way._

 "Scared, kid? You should be."  

"Not so tough now, are we?"

_Tough no, Drunk, yes. _

Seifer's hand found the lighter in his pocket.

He had long ago reached the stage when he could fight in his

 sleep and although two-thirds of a bottle of whisky was some

 serious drawback, it wasn't quite disabling enough to knock 

out reflexes he had been learning since he was ten years old. 

Plus, it had been fucking shite whisky. He'd really been ripped

 off.

So he grinned in response, very slowly, locked eyes with the 

biggest guy, and then took two fast steps sideways and was on

Lou before the fisherman had realised just what was happening. 

The lighter drew Lou's attention, fear making his eyes go wide 

and white in the glow before flailing hands knocked it from his 

fist.

It skittered away on the concrete.

Lou's eyes followed it for just a fraction of a second before

 switching back to a more immediate threat. By then, of course,

 it was too late. It didn't matter that Seifer was mostly drunk, all 

he had to do was fall forwards, twisting and bringing one knee

 up to knee the other man in the groin. At the same time as the

 fisherman folded, he brought his head forwards, grazing his

 forehead on Lou's teeth just before the top of his skull smacked

 into the fisherman's nose more by happy accident than by design.

Lou crumpled.

One down.

This state of affairs lasted all of three seconds before someone

 else grabbed him by the hair.  Seifer snapped his head back into 

someone else's shoulder with a flash of bright pain and a hissed 

curse that didn't do anything for his headache. 

Everything was happening very fast. He couldn't see and there

 was rain on his face. Someone at his back was trying to pull him

 away from Lou, who had both hands clasped to his face in an 

effort to stop the flow of blood coming from his nose. Seifer

 ignored them, grabbed Lou with one hand and hit him in the 

solar plexus with the other. As a target the man had one distinct

 advantage: he was very hard to miss.

As Lou collapsed down into a curled ball of misery into a puddle 

Seifer turned round to engage the man behind him. 

With his usual luck, it turned out to be the largest of the three thugs.

 The blow that he'd aimed at an unknown assailant's chin sank wrist

-deep into the larger man's belly. In the faint streetlight glow, it left

 a smear of blood on his muscle shirt.    

The large man gave an incoherent growl and lurched forwards. His

 swings were powerful, but disorganised, easily avoided and just

 as well. Seifer ducked and came up grinning, nerves strung higher

 than piano wire. The other men had backed off to give the first 

room and Lou was making bubbling noises on the floor behind 

him that warmed his heart.

It felt like dancing on the razor's edge, like for just a moment, 

he was at the centre of his own universe again. Even better, just

 for a few seconds, it felt _right_. 

_Yeah, that's right, you bastards, you picked the wrong fucking _

_guy…_

Instead, the inevitable happened. The alcohol finally caught up

 with his head at the same time as the first of the big guy's

 punches landed. 

There was a blurred freezeframe of tilted images, rain and puddles,

 people shouting. Within the space of a second he was down on the

 floor with his T shirt soaked with rain, a slight concussion and his

 right shoulder hurting like a bitch right where some fucker had just

 slammed into it. The world spun crazily.

Seifer went for his assailant's hamstrings and missed. Someone

 else scraped him off with his boot and kicked him in the stomach

 and head. It hurt in a vague drunk cushioned kind of way that 

seemed detached from his body. 

He threw up on someone's feet, messily, mouth tasting of nicotine,

 whisky and faintly of lime liquor. 

When he could see again, the view was mainly legs that hazed in 

and out of his vision, changing in number. He wasn't sure who

 they were, and had mostly given up caring. Whoever they were, 

it was lucky they weren't professionals, or he'd have been dead long ago.

_It's not SeeD. They would have done it properly._

_Thank Hyne for small mercies._

Seifer threw one arm out and jerked himself up onto one elbow.

He picked out the one man that wasn't paying attention to the 

game of beat-the-mercenary with exaggerated care and kicked

 him hard in the back of the knees more by luck than judgement.

The man fell with a surprised shout, knees impacting hard 

on the concrete. As he landed he pushed the other two men 

away, leaving a gap in their tightly bunched crowd and a pause

 in the beating. Seifer grabbed his legs, yanked the guy towards

 him, and then knotted hands in his hair and smashed his face 

against the concrete. Nose-deep in the gutter, the man gasped

 for air and gurgled for help that couldn't come fast enough in

 the form of a boot in the ribs and a kick to the face as they 

dragged him off the fallen one.

Seifer was pleased to see that he wasn't getting up any time

 soon.

 Curled up into a ball on the concrete next to Lou, his assailant's

 breathing was rasping and fast like a wounded animal, his face

 a bloody mess.

It was one of the first things that they taught in Garden. If you 

were really in trouble, outnumbered, outgunned and out of luck

 then maximum damage was sometimes the only way to make 

people sit up and pay attention.  The ones who weren't in pieces

 on the floor, anyway.  There were a dozen other techniques, but

 you mostly had to be both standing and sober to employ them.

Someone swore above his head. "Bastard."

It turned out to be the prelude to more kicks. You couldn't really

fight back if you couldn't get up and every blow made it more 

difficult to stand in a world suddenly gone haywire. To Seifer, the

 knowledge that he probably wasn't going to make it wasn't as 

sobering as it ought to have been. He caught a glimpse of faces 

peered round the door of the bar, eyes wide and hungry. Ghouls. 

But it wasn't like he hadn't done the same thing, sat with a nice 

cool beer as some poor sod got the shit kicked out of him for an

 insult over nothing.  

Couldn't really blame them

Who was he kidding? He could blame everyone except himself.

 Lou, Quistis, the bystanders, but it all came back to the same thing.

 He should never have got this drunk in the first place. Or, at the

 very least, he should have done it at home.

He couldn't see, couldn't read the sign over the bar or the letters

on the men's T shirts and it had less to do with the dark than with

 the concussion. 

_Dammit._

Someone grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him upright, a wall

 rough and cool at his back.

There were shouts from the bar, among the blur of faces and pink

 haze. Frantic arm gestures in a universal semaphore of distress.

Someone shoved him hard, and his hands skidded against the wall,

 though he managed to stay on his feet, snarling.

 The roar of engines, and then cool blessed silence.

Damn.

He'd be pissing blood for weeks. 

Seifer wiped his eyes and opened them carefully. The alley was

 empty except for him, the rain and the emphatically closed bar 

door. The rain drummed on the street washing away Lou's blood

 and setting up a sympathetic pulsing headache in Seifer's skull.

The silence was interrupted by a rainslick screech of tyres that 

made him wince and glance up just in time to see the first of the

 police cars slid round the corner.

_Cops._

_Time to leave_. 

Seifer didn't wait to see whether it was the fight or the lock-in 

that they were interested in. He lurched round the corner and

 then managed to work up a kind of half-assed jog across a 

deserted intersection and into the safe dark coolness of an 

alley mouth before he halted in the shadow of a doorway, breathing

 hard. The rain made little spots of coldness on his skin, hazing

 lamps in a glowing halo, or maybe that was just the alcohol, still. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Seifer spun with an 

angry snarl, staggering back against the wall as the movement 

threatened to centrifuge his brain out through his earholes. He 

relaxed slightly as the figure (or figures) wavering in the hot amber

glow of the streetlights appeared to be nothing more than an old 

bag lady. Her face was covered by a floppy dishevelled hat and 

she seemed to be holding more carrier bags than any human 

should easily be able to manage. 

"My patch. Fuck off. Kids today..you can't just .."

The voice tailed off with a surprised gasp as she noticed Seifer's

 battered face, flung one grubby hand out in protection or fear 

and then turned tail and ran, scuttling off down the street with 

shopping bags bobbing madly round her ankles.

_Must look bad. I'm scaring the bag ladies_

In the darkness, the woman's footsteps died away quietly. A 

dog barked, far off, a snatch of music drifted from an upstairs 

window, dimmed by the cool drizzling mist that followed the 

rain. It looked like cotton wool filling the streets, a white tide 

as if someone had poured a bottle of washing up liquid or thirty

 into the sea and then there had been a real serious flood.  Almost

 like a live animal.

Seifer turned round a few times, randomly, trying to orient himself.

 The alleys all looked the same in the growing fog.

Main street, thataway,,hell, notsuchagoodidea to go there, anyway

 it's in the wrong direction. Bar, behind, not there, either, fuck. 

Only one way to go, and that was forward. Home.

His head hurt, and the turning had had an entirely predictable

 effect on his stomach.

He staggered over to the nearest wall, in the shadow and out 

of the rain, and threw up down the wall, violently. 

_Fuck._

Back against the wall, he slumped, eyes closed and head down

 and waiting for the sickness to stop. He couldn't think_._

_The whisky worked, then._

_Shut up._

The clouds seemed to swirl darkly overhead, slowly disappearing

 as the misty rain loaded the air with water droplets and sent the 

streets vanishing into the fog.. Seifer turned, resting his back to the

 wall, and leant his head back, trying to steady some of the spinning

 Rain overflowing from the gutter over his head dripped down his

 face, warm on his throat to soak his collar and T-shirt. It felt good.

  Blood heat.

He closed his eyes. Bright clouds floated across behind his eyelids. 

He vaguely remembered doing the same as a kid, sitting up not

 sleeping all night and staring into the corners of his room,

 listening to the quiet breathing of the other kids while dark

 colours beyond black ran swelling in the shadows, eyes searching

 so hard in the blackness for something to fix on that he started 

seeing things that weren't there.

The scary thing was, when he closed his eyes he could still see 

them too.  Scary, but not as scary as some of the things he'd see

 if he went to sleep. 

Some of the things he could still see.

Seifer opened his eyes.

The rain was making the quiet streets almost unbearably muggy, 

almost tropical. It was like being stuffed fully clothed into a wet 

sock and just about as hard to breathe.  

Despite it all, Seifer wished he still had his coat. He'd woken up 

from half a hundred late night drunks wrapped in that, the lining 

patched and missing in places, smelling comfortably of cigarettes. 

About as much home as he'd had for a while, and even that was 

gone. After he'd gone to unearth his stuff from the hole he'd dug

 for it in the Trabian hills, his coat lining had been soaked and 

worm-eaten when he'd unwrapped it from the plastic bag. He'd

cursed and pushed it back and hoped no one would think he was

 burying a body. Hyperion had been all right. The worms couldn't

 eat metal. He wished he still had his coat.

He wished he still had a brain.

With an effort he raised his arm up to his face and awkwardly

pawed back his damp shirt cuff back to glance at his watch. 

_2.05 am._

The numbers fogged as he watched and the time seemed to have

passed extremely fast. He supposed he should be getting home, 

but the caps on his boots seemed to have rusted to the ground in

the rain. Mist swirled round his ankles when he glanced wearily

down the street, as if he was standing in a foamy sea. 

It was quite a pleasant thought, just to walk into the sea and not

come up again. But life didn't work like that. Seifer imagined it,

 water swilling over his legs, flowing in to fill the spaces he had 

been. Nothing to ever show he'd been there.  

Why couldn't history work like that? Why couldn't his memory 

work like that?

_Why?_

_I don't know._

It seemed like he didn't know a lot of things lately.

_clink_

A sound, muffled in the fog. 

Seifer swung round, swore and meant it. The fog smelled of the sea,

 salt and brine like blood on his mouth when he licked his lips

nervously. Or maybe it was blood.

_clink._

He swung the other way, searching the dark fog until his vision

blurred again. The noise seemed to be coming from every direction.

"Who's there?"

Only victims said things like that. He'd heard enough in his time,

 and grinned with shut mouth and grim amusement in the dark. 

Sometimes he'd throw a stone, send it rolling into the shadows so

 that the target whirled, leaving the back of their neck temptingly

 vulnerable for an armlock followed by a swift knifestrike up and

 into the armpit, straight to the heart.

His voice sounded slurred, even to his ears. The bitter aftertaste 

of the vomit left in his throat made him cough wetly. Seifer did 

not believe in karma, but at times like this he sometimes worried

 that karma might believe in him.

"Who's there, fuck it?"

The noise echoed down the alley bouncing off the rainslick brick,

 and was swallowed up by the mist. 

The sound repeated.

_clink_

This was crazy. He was crazy.

_No, you're drunk._

Same thing.

There was an eddying in the fog to his left. Seifer tensed. His 

senses were straining, but the whole world seemed to have had

 a blanket laid over it, hard to see, hard to hear. It was also

swaying gently, but he didn't think that was the fog.

He narrowed his eyes. 

_(who are you trying to fool?) _

The noises seemed to have stopped and he weighed up the pros

 and cons of calling louder. In his current state, he didn't think

 it was a good idea to say' hey, I'm still standing, want to have 

another go?'

As he stood motionless, another wave of nausea broke over him.

 Shit. 

After he'd finished throwing up for the second time he glanced 

up to find something oval and black making his way along the 

alley floor to him. 

A cat.

Seifer sighed and slouched back against the wall, retching. You'd

 think his body would have been used to having poison poured 

into it on a regular basis, but no. He hadn't thrown up from 

drinking in ages, but maybe it had to do with too many punches

 in the stomach. He ached all over. 

The cat pushed through the fog like a small submarine, serene

 and unstoppable. The mist didn't seem to bother it at all. Water 

glistened on its fur. It gave a questioning purr and settled down 

against his leg, calmly raised a paw and began to wash itself. Its 

body slowly warmed his damp trouser leg. It didn't seem to mind the smell.

_Mrrow__?_

"Fucking cat. Sod off."

The cat, not surprisingly, didn't reply. Instead it lifted one leg 

daintily and started to wash its arse with a singleminded enthusiasm. 

One paw stuck up out of the mist, rather like a very small feline

 Marie Celeste. The pose reminded Seifer of some of Quistis' more 

demanding yoga routines.

"Go home."

The cat ignored him.  It simply stared up at him in the smug way of

 a cat who wasn't bothered about much except who the next meal 

was coming from. 

Its body language implied '_how about taking your own advice?'_

Seifer groaned

_Yeah, great, I'm tired and drunk and I'm talking to a _cat_… _

_But at least it's not talking back.  Then I'd worry._

The cat sauntered off down the street. Seifer, with nothing better to

do, followed it.

He checked his watch but the numerals danced and blurred in front

 of his face so after a while he gave up. It was late, was all he knew.

 Too late. 

He was tired, or at least more tired than usual.

The cat's tail waved in the fog as he made his way home, streets 

dank and wet and drippingly quiet around his echoing footsteps. 

Some time later, he got there.

This chapter is partly inspired by the realisation that Seifer spends

all of the game and two of my fics under the legal age for drinking in 

America.  I was pleased with it, but I'm not sure it works now. Oh well.

 Onto the next.

Refs: the bar is heavily inspired by The Keyhole in Mackinac, Michigan.

100 reviews! Thanks everyone who contributed! I started out writing 

Government Bloodhounds by promising that if I didn't get a hundred

reviews, then I wouldn't write any more fanfic. GB had its centenary at

 about chapter twelve, so this has got to be good.  I'm toying with the

 idea of making it into a trilogy, if I have time, but I think that South

Down The Coast should run to around twenty chapters at least. This

 may be a good thing. First reviewer to give me 200 reviews gets free

 ficbit of their choice.

And everyone should go read Dust Traveller's Slayer's fic Shards 

Of Chaos, that updated recently. It's on my favourites, right at the top.

Reviews: 

Amber Tinted ( you can have sex with someone you hate, but you 

can't be in love, if that makes sense.)

ArashiKisu1 (think I got your name right…I still think I write Seifer

 too nice, too sarky and not enough of a bully, but if he tried any of 

that shit with Quistis she'd break his legs, so it's probably just as well)

Ayanamiyuy (Everyone loves Seifer. I don't know why. He's really 

a bastard. Kind of a mix of Spider Jerusalem, Cassandra Claire's Draco and Hellblazer's John Constantine.) 

breaker-one( 100th reviewer! WOW! Sorry, no cookie, though. 

Maybe 200. Have virtual popcorn though. I really appreciate it.)

 Dalpal (hey there d00d and welcome back. Thanks for all the

reviews, I'm glad to see that you're still liking it. Keep writing 

yourself. )

DBZ Fanfiction Queen (Wait 'till the next chapter for when she

 has to go get the key back. It's good.)

Dust Traveller (the best Seifer who ever seifed..well, I KNOW

 you don't read much ff8 fic, but thanks. A lot. Any chance of

 more SOC?)

Ghost140 (yeah, okay…So love is strongly implied, but if loving

 is that kind of caring-mutual-respect thing then they had that 

already even if neither of them would admit to it under torture. I

love serial arguments, btw)

Mana Angel (as my sister said, a proper relationship starts after your

 first big fight. It will be fun when they meet the rest and have to 

explain why a/Seifer's still alive and b/what the hell Quistis is 

doing with him, but it isn't going to happen for a while. I imagine

 the conversation to go something like this: -"So, you've been 

sleeping with Seifer Almasy?" "..Well, sleeping was probably the

 least interesting part, but yeah…"and everyone else sweatdrops.)

nynaeve77 (Ah, come on.  They're both quite volatile people and

 they don't back down. Plus, they both have issues. I don't have

 (thank God) that kind of huge argument break-up-make-up 

relationship, but I know people who do. In retrospect, I should

 have split chapter seven and padded it out a bit, but I had a map

 of where everything's going to go up to chapter twelve, and I

 thought that it'd all fit in. The stuff that I was going to have 

happen happened in the same way, but it took a bit longer, 

if you get me. )

Quistis88 ( Yeah. It had to be somewhere. It wouldn't be them

 if they didn't fight.) 

Ripley (Quistis' shoes are sensible, probably flat but elegant 

in a kind of understated way. She won't tell me where she

bought them. Seifer's shoes are black steel toecapped boots,

 peeling at the end.  And they smell. I leave it up to you to 

pick which pair of shoes you should most like to be in.)

seatbelts (Ta. Your predictive powers amaze me, though 

Seifer isn't the breakdown type. He breaks other people,

 they don't break him.  And of course, he never admits anything.)

 superviolinist ( Thanks. I'm flattered.)

Technoelfie (Oh.GOD. Thanks for the sex=fighting=

Seifer/Squall point…I've read some S/S, but as Fuujin 

would say, SEIFER, HETEROSEXUAL, dammit.), 

VegaKeep (which illustration do you like? Are they all showing? 

There should be a little chapter pic and a minicomic.)

Kate( ..is brought to you tonight by force…)


	9. Chapter Nine: The Condition I'm In

Chapter Nine -The Condition I'm In

Oh my weary and aching head,

You know I got to get some thinking done.

I can't remember where I put the bed,

I haven't moved it since '71.

I got a real funny feeling I'm about to fall down.

I hope I find my way to the ground.

I'd hate to spend the whole night floating around,

In the condition I'm in….

Moxy Fruvous-Ash Hash.

Seifer woke up and groaned.

Damn. 

His mouth tasted like it had been coated in fur and repeatedly shat upon by a parrot.

 His arms hurt. His head hurt. Even his eyeballs hurt, for Hyne's sake.

Sometime in the night the air-conditioner had packed up again, leaving the room heavy

 and hot. The smell of stale fag-ash and alcohol haunted the air like a separate entity. 

A fly buzzed futilely against the windowpane, each soft bump against the glass 

threatening to split his skull. 

Window. 

He fumbled an arm out of the entangling sheets and raised himself on one elbow. 

Big mistake. If his head had been hurting before, there were no words to describe

 exactly how it felt now.  He tried, anyway. 

It felt like a herd of elephants was marching through his skull, accompanied by a

 brass band, and that was the best he could some up with.

There were bruises, but on as careful an inspection as he could manage, nothing

 was broken.

Than Hyne for small mercies. He really didn't feel like visiting a doctor.

 Seifer gave up on the window-opening idea and flopped back into bed with a sigh,

 closing his eyes. The top of his head threatened to unscrew from his skull, exposing

 what few brain cells were left clinging on for dear life as he tried to lie very, very still.

It might have been a few seconds or several hours later that the knocking began.

It took Seifer a few hazy minutes to separate the hammering on the door from the

 hammering in his head. 

He groaned into his pillow "Shut _up." and then stuffed it over his head when _

whoever-it-was (and he could guess, oh yes) refused to comply.

There was an abrupt silence, and then the noises resumed, harder.

Seifer screamed silent curses at it in his head and stopped, because it hurt too much.

He should get a sign, one of those coat-hanger door tags.  The Mercenary is NOT in.

_Urgh.___

Had to..

Get up.

This idea did not meet with a rousing approval from his body. Or his brain. Or indeed

 any part of him, except maybe certain areas of his hair, which was doing its normal 

early-morning thing. Seifer peeled himself off the mattress anyway.

Hyne, he ached. It felt like he'd been beaten up.

Funny, that.

He gave himself a brief glance to check that he still had clothes on and then scanned 

the room through slitted eyes for any possibly incriminating underwear, bottles, or 

women. The search came up negative, which was just as well.  His boots were 

abandoned halfway across the room, laces trailing.

So - he couldn't have been all _that drunk. _

He flopped back onto his bed and tried to think round the headache. There had been whisky.

Yeah, he really had been that drunk.

The hammering had increased to a point where it was amplifying the headache. It felt

 like someone was trying to nail through his temple.

Noise. Down.

Seifer rubbed a palm against his face, and then into his hair, where it stuck. Never a

 good sign. Sighing, he shambled across the room, fumbled the latch left-handed and

 stuck his head out the door. The sunlight hit like a blow, outlining a figure in a nimbus

 of palely glowing beams.

"Unhh?"

The figure swung round, hair flying and one hand raised to knock on the door. It 

landed the fist on Seifer's chest, hard, and then recoiled, registering the change 

between peeling wood and ragged T-shirt.

Enter Quistis, pristinely clean (of course) with an expression of annoyance and 

general revulsion.

"Seifer, where..?" She hesitated, taking in his general appearance, and Seifer glanced down. 

Damn.

 His T shirt was covered in blood, red stains standing out with a Rorschach contrast

 that made his head hurt. Well, not covered, but at least heavily spotted.  One of the

 sleeves was missing, and his jeans' last remaining knee had given up the ghost. 

"What have you been _doing_?"

"Drinking." It felt like some kind of superhuman effort just to open his mouth. Drinking

 _had been involved, hadn't it? Drinking, fighting… ..and other things ending in 'ing'. _

Vomiting, probably.

"You're covered in blood." Her voice lowered the ambient temperature a good few degrees. 

Temperature on Planet Quistis: minus thirty.

 Mood: Frosty.

Colonisation verdict; incompatible with life. Give up and go home.

 Seifer sighed.  _Hyne, what did I _say_ to her last night?_

"Don't worry, most of it's not mine."

"I wasn't." Flatly.

"Fine." He turned round to go back into the flat. To do, what, he wasn't sure.

"Seifer."

The door was halfway closed. Seifer levered it open and sighed heavily, trying to make

 a point. "Huh?"

"My key." Quistis's glare could have given him a suntan.

"What?"

"I gave you my goddamn key and when you buggered off last night I didn't have one

 so I had to go get one from the receptionist who gave me a lecture about what the youth

 of today was coming to and I practically had to promise her my firstborn child to get a

 spare one and I had to have it back at nine sharp so that's why I came over here and

 do you know just how big a lump of pride I had to swallow, you selfish bastard?"

Her face was turning red. She took a break to breathe and Seifer jumped on the pause.

"Last night, you said..

"What do you mean, _I_? You said.."

"Something about how I was an arrogant jerk…"

"That I only slept with you on some sort of order

"and I was jealous of Squall…like hell."

"….and at least I was _right_!"

They glared at each other in mutually outraged silent incomprehension, broken only by

 the old lady next door banging on her window and shouting. 

Seifer sighed. "You'd better come in. Anything else?"

"Yeah. We're all going to hell.  According to the receptionist"

"Like that's news."  

_I've been going to hell for so long I've reserved a parking space….._

He crossed the room carefully, kicked the boots into a corner and shoved the window

 open using his left hand. Quistis stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, looking 

like a particularly decorative hatstand as Seifer settled himself on the floor, within easy

 reach of the window just in case he hadn't got rid of all the drink last night. She sank

 into the armchair and sighed. 

"You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good." Understatement of the month.

"You don't look like you feel so good." She smiled, icy clouds breaking for a moment

 and then closing over just as fast.

"Well, I don't feel like I look like I feel so good." He rested his head on his hand, sliding

 his other hand up gingerly to touch his face and wincing whenever it found a mark. 

"Do you want a shower before I start with the shouting?" Quistis' voice had turned back

 to frosty.

Her words surprised Seifer until he noticed that her nose was wrinkling. Never one to look

 a gift horse in the mouth, he nodded, getting the feeling Quistis would have liked to turn the

 cold tap on full blast and shove his head under it.

"Sure." 

Her glare was hurting his eyes. And the noise of the water would drown out the shouting,

 just in case she started early. 

Quistis' temper was much like a stick of dynamite: it took a while to go off but once it did

 it made one hell of a mess. Maybe the explosion would be over by the time he got out but

 he wouldn't like to bet on it. 

Seifer got up and made his unsteady way out the door and into

 the tiny shared shower room, trying his best to walk in a straight line and feeling her glare

 like a knife between his shoulderblades the whole way.  

Quistis leant back against the wall and listened to the water falling.  She'd been shocked

 when she first saw Seifer but long experience had led her to expect almost anything from

 him, the more blood the better.

His hair looked like it had been styled by running his hands through it, as opposed to 

normal, where it looked like it had been styled with the thing you use to clip the grass

 before cricket matches. It was dark and matted in places, and his clothes were a mess.

 Not to mention his face.

_He got into a fight.  _Again.__

_Of course he got into a fight, this is _Seifer_ we're talking about, Mr I-use-other-_

_people-as-stress-balls__._

_I don't know why I bother….._

Her first-aid skills itched in the back of her mind like a mosquito bite. Quistis clenched

 her fists and ignored them.

The man could just..no, he could _damn well just clean himself up._

 Why would anyone want to drink what was basically poison? Why would anyone 

actually enjoy losing control? She didn't understand.

It pissed her off no end. Control was the lifebelt of Quistis' hardworking and slightly

 repressed life. It just didn't make sense. And as for drinking to forget, she seemed

 to manage that just fine without any kind of foreign substance, thank you very much. 

Steam poured through the open door, turning the already hot room into a sauna.

She screamed "How hot do you _want it?" and them mentally groaned and counted to ten. _

No answer.

Hmm. Either Seifer's ears were blocked up with soap or he really was feeling bad.

She was going to _enjoy_ this argument. One of the advantages of having an fight with a

 hungover person tended to be that they didn't say a lot except 'please keep it down' 

and would agree to anything if they though there was the chance of a small glass of cold

 water and an aspirin.  

But Seifer had never been good at doing the 'please' thing and Quistis knew that the addition

 of a hangover 

was unlikely to help the equation.

Half an hour later Quistis was starting, fiercely against her will, to worry that he'd somehow

 managed to pass out and drown in three inches of water. She tiptoed over and opened the

 bathroom door.

Seifer was standing in front of the bathroom mirror shaving. The white shaving foam made

 his face look very tanned and accentuated the dark rings round his eyes.

He narrowed his eyes and stared at her, flicking soap from his razor into the sink. "What?"

"Just checking."

Seifer grunted and went back to shaving. Quistis looked down.

Seifer was shirtless. The fraying cuffs of his jeans trailed in the inch-deep water that 

covered the floor. They were possibly the only bit of clean clothing he was wearing; 

the remainder of the denim was spotted with mud and dark black smeary drops that 

Quistis could have sworn were blood.  His knuckles were skinned and bleeding, 

probably from hard and repeated contact with other people's chins.

No prizes for guessing exactly what had gone on, then…

"Seifer, you look like a railroad accident."

"Add that to the list of things I never needed to know."

Quistis leant against the doorframe, avoiding the puddles of water. "What happened to you?"

"I got into a fight."

_Agent Obvious strikes again, huh?_

She sighed.  "They didn't recognise you?"

"Nah." He waved a dismissive hand, winced and then went back to his shaving. Now that

 most of the foam had been removed, Quistis could see that at least one of what she'd just

 assumed were dark rings around his eyes was a bruise. "It wasn't about that. Just some guys off the boat."

Quistis swept her eyes down his torso, critically. There were a couple of large grey-green

 patches that looked very much like bootmarks.  "You're a mess."

"Yeah, but you should have seen the other guys."

"Yes?"

"There were six of them." 

_Mr. Macho. _" And a dog, right?" She rolled her eyes.

Seifer ignored Quistis, leant forwards and dunked his face into the bowl of shaving water. 

The plug must have had a crack in it, and in the silence Quistis could hear the water dripping

 down into the drain. She shut up, irritated, because there wasn't really much point in trying

 to argue with someone who couldn't hear you shouting. 

When he surfaced for air she snapped "You're so careless."

"Punching people isn't careless."

 Seifer ran his hands over his cropped hair, dripping water.  The movement made his shoulder

 muscles move in interesting ways that Quistis thought would have looked better if he hadn't

 immediately turned, winced and grabbed at his left arm in a move that nearly dislocated his

 opposite shoulder. She saw a thin line of blood running down his back and commented 

caustically "Would you rather I said deliberately stupid?" 

"Shit." Seifer touched fingers to his back and stared blurrily at the blood. "You got any cure

 spells?"

"Seifer, I'm on holiday. We have to account for those things. And if you think for one minute

 I'm going to waste one on you just because you've gone out and got hammered.  I'll stitch

 you up if you like."

"That's a good idea" Seifer said, in the tone of voice of someone who didn't think it was

 a good idea at all.

"Seriously."

He pulled the plug and slouched over to the door, feet trailing wet prints over the floor. 

"Okay."

"Turn round."

Seifer sighed and leant against the bathroom wall, resting his elbows on the plaster above

 his head. Quistis stepped gingerly over the slick damp tiles and ran cautious fingers down

 his back. The injury wasn't much, she decided after a cursory inspection. A couple of 

stitches or five, the kind of thing a Curaga would have been helpful with. 

"Did I tell you you're an idiot?"

"Within the last ten minutes? At least twice."

Quistis found their usual bickering comforting, the small and petty quarrels of those who 

feared the big arguments. 

She reached for a washcloth and wiped the blood of his skin, 

feeling Seifer's back tense under her not-so-gentle touch. He inhaled sharply.

_ …..You're afraid everyone else'll work out you're not quite the frigid ice bitch _

_everyone__ says you are. Shit, you let your walls down, Trepe. Where's your damn _

_mask__ now? What are you going to do? _

She pressed the flannel down harder and then let it drop to the floor, cursing herself.

_ I can't believe I bothered saving your life…._

Dammit. She couldn't even make herself feel better by hurting him. 

_I better get this done quickly. The landlady wants her key back…._

"I'll go borrow a needle and thread from the old lady next door. Just go into the next room

 and try not to open it up again, okay. Bring the washcloth."

No answer.

_"Okay?"_

Seifer opened his eyes. He looked drawn, tired and shaky, probably due to the copious

 ingestion the night before of what, Quistis thought, was essentially a poison. "Yeah."

_Idiot.___

She crossed the hall and after five minutes cautious bartering, managed to obtain needle

 and thread from the old woman. The needle was blunt and not curved, and then thread

 wasn't anything near medical quality, but it was just going to have to do.

She slammed and locked Seifer's flat door and motioned to a point on the floor. "Sit."

Seifer sauntered across the room and sat at a point near, but not on, the one she'd indicated.

 Obscurely, it irritated Quistis almost as much as the key thing. There were so many other

 things that she could be mad at him for.

Trying to kill her, for one, if you really wanted to exhume skeletons…..

"Lean forwards."

Seifer rested his elbows on his knees. Quistis sighed. She knelt down on the horrible carpet

 behind him. "No, not like that. You're going to pull it open."

"Trepe, do you actually know how to do this?"

"I've been on first aid courses." Quistis refrained from mentioning that she'd aced them all.

 Learning how to put people back together melded seamlessly with learning how to take 

them apart.

"Did you actually get to practise on anything except a piece of meat?"

"Yes." Quistis' voice was about one degree above the temperature of Seifer's freezer,

 currently gently defrosting into a puddle onto the floor. 

"What?"

"Myself.  Give me a lighter. I know you've got one somewhere."

Seifer fished a cracked plastic lighter from his pocket and handed it over without speaking. 

Quistis got the feeling she'd impressed him. Earning respect from Seifer was like pulling teeth,

 but once you had it, you had it.   

She flicked on the lighter and held the end of the needle in the flame until it glowed red, 

waved it about with slightly scorched fingers until the metal cooled and then threaded the

 cotton she'd acquired carefully through the eye. It was pink, which she thought served 

him right. She placed one hand against his back to hold him still.

"Don't move." 

"Don't worry. I don't want to wind up with my arms sewn to my leg."

She bit her lip. _That's if you're lucky. I had something far more creative in mind….._

"Ready?"

"Sure."

Quistis started stitching. It was harder than anyone watching would have thought, especially

 with the kind of straight needle made for sewing fabric instead of skin and the tendency of

 real people to bleed copiously.  Seifer tensed and took one deep breath, hissing the same

 three swearwords over and over. He was sweating slightly under her hands, and Quistis

 concentrated on the slight pulling sensation as the thread slipped though the flesh. It was

 much easier, sewing yourself up.

She cast around for a topic, and settled on the obvious.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Seifer sounded slightly exasperated, but his voice was steady enough.

"Why the drink. It can't do any good."

Seifer shrugged. 

Quistis snapped. "Don't move!"

_Hell, if you'd bothered to go get the cut on your face stitched instead of being too_

_ bloody macho to go see Kadowaki, you probably wouldn't have that damn scar_

_ to start with……._

_Three stitches to go…I need to talk, if only to get my mind off this…_

"The drink?"

"It doesn't make me forget-but it helps me cope with remembering." 

Quistis sighed. 

_One day I'll get a straight answer out of him about what the hell freaks him out_

_ so damn much. It's more than just the sorceresses._

"I would ask you how much you drink on a normal day, but then you'd scare me."   
"In the winter when it's really cold, nine to constantly. And that's just the hard liquor..."

"You're joking."

"Maybe."

 "I hope so.  For your sake." Quistis said.  She finished the cut and counted down her

 stitches, giving one final tug on the thread to make sure everything was secure. Seifer

 grunted, hit the floor with one fist and snarled. She raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, all men are babies."

"I believe the word was 'asshole'." Quistis reached for the bottle of neat iodine that

 she'd filched from the bathroom medicine cabinet. "Wait one second…" She grabbed

 the flannel, wadded it in the mouth of the bottle and flicked the bottle upside down.

 Holding the washcloth gingerly between her fingers, she wrung it out just above the cut.

  It was going to stain, but who cared?  Maybe it'd make him wash more often.

_This is for one impromptu makeshift first-aid in Trabia, you bastard…  _

She counted softly under her breath, waiting for the iodine to penetrate. One, two..

There was a stifled gasp from Seifer. He pushed off the floor and was standing on the

 other side of the room within a second, looking much more wide awake than previously.

Bingo.

And lo! One instant cure for hangover.

She wound the cotton back into a neat roll and smiled angelically at Seifer as he glared at her,

 stabbing the needle into the thread to keep it safe as if she was jabbing swords into an

 assailant's flesh.

"Better?"

"My ass." 

"I thought it was your back?"

Seifer gave her a 'don't even try to be funny' glare and muttered something she couldn't

 quite hear. It didn't seem to be complimentary, and probably rhymed with 'luck'.

She sighed. 

_How could I have been so stupid as to expect any kind of gratitude?_

"What's that? Oh, thanks for sewing me up, Quistis.  Never mind."

  Seifer looked slightly sheepish. He flexed his shoulder and ran one finger carefully over

 the stitches.  They seemed to meet with his approval, so he wandered over to the sink.

"Coffee?"

She recognised it as an Almasy-style peace-offering, and about as much thanks as she was

 going to get. And anyway, Quistis was always ready for coffee, in the same way that vampires

 are always ready for blood, so she nodded.

"Yes. "

Seifer got two mugs out from under the sink." Shout away."

"Coffee first." Coffee came before shouting.  It came before everything.

"Normal coffee, or special coffee?"

Quistis scowled and said  "What's in it?" You didn't mess with the coffee.

"Coffee. Sugar. Cocoa. "Seifer saw her disbelieving face. "It's nothing _weird_.  Or toxic. 

Want any?"

"Okay." Quistis subsided. "But just the normal kind."

She watched as Seifer tipped two teaspoons of coffee into each mug, added two of cocoa

 and a couple of sugars to his and topped them off with hot water, rolling her eyes as he did so.

_That can't be healthy.  _

The spoon stood up in his drink as he bent awkwardly down to pass her a mug.

 "Don't blame me if you get diabetes."

"Nah. I'm counting on the liver failure. Or maybe lung cancer. Can't make up my mind so

 I thought I'd go for both at once.  And that's assuming I escape the old favourite 'death

 by firing squad'."

Quistis thought of the Zen Buddhist temple that was her body, and winced. "It's your life." 

Seifer shrugged, and ended up spilling half his cup on the floor.  He held out a hand as 

Quistis sighed and went to grab the washcloth.   

" Don't worry, it'd make the rest of the carpet look too clean"

_So that's the reason behind the sticky floor. _

_And anyway, I wouldn't worry about his carpet getting messy.  I don't worry._

_It's not as if I'm neurotic or anything.  I just like things to be neat. And tidy.  _

_Neat and tidy.__ Is that too much to ask?_

"I'm not…no never mind…" Quistis decided to change the subject "Why are you so

 damn stupid sometimes?" That _was _the question she'd been meaning to ask ever since

 she'd opened the door.  "Is it some kind of big macho thing?"

"Nah. Look, it's nothing, I went for a drink, I got into a fight. Nothing happened."  

"You call that nothing?"

Seifer sat down on the floor beside her and groaned as his body told him in no uncertain

 words that it really hadn't been nothing. His eyeballs hurt, for Hyne's sake.  His hair hurt.

 Maybe on a one to ten scale, with ten being just about as bad as you could get without 

dying and one being 'oh, look, I broke a nail' how he felt wasn't all that bad. After all, 

he'd legally died three times.

Still, he felt like shit.

Judging from Quistis's expression, he looked like it too.

She looked like she was thinking, very hard.

Seifer didn't even want to guess what she was thinking about. He didn't really want to think, in fact.

Thinking hurt.

Maybe he was out of practise.

In fact, the thoughts running through Quistis' head were fairly simple.

_What am I doing with a man whose hobbies include nasty violence and self-abuse, _

_who__ is currently sitting next to me, looking like something the cat dragged in and_

_……..,__ oh, nice one….drinking lethally strong coffee with one hand and dropping_

_ fag-ash into it with the cigarette held in the other?_

_Are relationships really supposed to go like this?_

Quistis considered.

Her main relationship points of reference were confined to a secret addiction to the 

Balamb soap opera _Destiny, and her friends._

Friends, check. Irvine and Selphie's relationship seemed to be based solely on sex

 ( when they were together) and sending extremely long pornographic emails to each other

 (whenever one of them was out of town.)

Well, that wasn't going to work. She couldn't even use her computer.

Rinoa and Squall had a weirdly co-dependent but so far pretty much normal relationship

 that seemed to be based on a mutual agreement that Rinoa not get overly affectionate

 with Squall in public. In return Squall occasionally uttered words of more than three 

syllables and told Rinoa that she looked 'nice, like… 'you know.'on occasion.

Despite all predictions, it seemed to work

_Come back to that.  _

Let's think… Irvine and Selphie, Rinoa and Squall, Zell and that librarian girl who has

 all the personality of a box-leaf file, but who I'm sure is a really wonderful and amazing

 person when you get to know her..and....Cid and Edea.

_ Hmmm._

Well, there were just some things she didn't need to imagine. Edea's taste in men was..

individual…

Plus, of course, the fact that she might have just slept with Seifer, two years ago….

For a minute Quistis' brain shut down in horror.

Beside her, Seifer stubbed his latest cigarette out on the table, blissfully oblivious of just

 what was going on in Quistis' mind.   He rubbed his eyes for a minute, muttered 

something that sounded like 'Turn the damn seagulls down" and then fell asleep on the table.

There was a knock on the door behind her. Quistis swallowed her coffee in one gulp and 

glanced at Seifer, who was comatose on the table top.  Screw coffee, she was going

 to need a Phoenix Down at the very least to get him going. A Phoenix Down or a good

 kick in the pants.

The knock repeated, louder.

Quistis sighed, shook Seifer's arm half-heartedly and then padded across the carpet.

  She opened, carefully, in case it was the police.

Stood framed in the doorway was a small child that reached up to Quistis' waist. He

 was dressed in high-top trainers and a T shirt reading Say No To Drugs, which 

Quistis could only guess was a good thing. 

She said, cautiously, "Hello."

The child took a step back, retrieved the middle finger of his right hand from the depths

 of his nostril and thrust a sheaf of paper wordlessly into her grasp. He then replaced the

 finger in his nose, turned and ran down the steps, disappearing down the street.

Quistis took a cautious glance at the bundle, which she was beginning to realise was a

 very tattered daily paper. She wiped her fingers carefully on her shorts, noticing a 

scrawled Biro note inked on the margin of the back cover.

It read 7a Sullivan Street.    

Quistis glanced up at the numbers Tipp-Exed on the wall beside Seifer's door. It read

 7b Sullivan Street. 

So, the wrong address. It must belong to the little old lady who'd just lent her the needle

 and thread (with an expression that said she couldn't even begin to imagine what Quistis

 was going to get up to with them).

She'd have to remember to wipe the blood off.

Quistis flipped the paper over, preparing to walk across the landing and stuff it through

 the old lady's letterbox. As she turned it, however, she caught sight of the front cover.

 Tattered or not, the words were still legible.

It was then that Quistis Trepe did the one thing she'd been trying to avoid in all her 

twenty years of life.   She broke the law.

Instead of stuffing the ( paid for and delivered) newspaper through the old neighbour's

 letterbox, she sat down on the steps, read the entire paper through, read the first three

 pages twice more, got up slowly and re-entered Seifer's flat, still moving slowly but 

accelerating by the second.

Seifer was woken by Quistis tugging on his arm. He groaned.

_My mouth tastes like monster shit.  Maybe all the sugar wasn't a good idea._

_ It sure as hell doesn't seem to have woken me up._

_On the plus side, at least I slept._

Quistis was pulling on his arm and babbling something about a newspaper article. 

She waved a blurry newspaper in front of him and then, as his eyes still refused to 

focus, smacked him on the head with it. 

"Read the paper!"

Okay, simple. Just as soon as he worked out which one he was supposed to read

 he'd have it covered.

Of course, the fact that the main headline was in three-inch high letters helped a bit. 

It read, emphatically "ATTACK ON GARDEN'

After staring at the paper for ten seconds in horrified bemusement he realised that it 

had an 's' at the end. Attack on Gardens. He couldn't decide whether that was better or worse. 

Seifer started reading.

"_News of the recent attacks on Balamb, Galbadia and __Trabia__Gardens__ rocked the_

_ political community to its core today.  All three organisations were attacked in _

_the__ early hours of this morning though it is not known how much damage was _

_caused__. . When approached, the commanders of all three Gardens declined to _

_comment__, though a formal joint statement is planned for release later this afternoon.….."_

Scan. More of the same. Just journalistic bullshit that seemed to imply a lot while never

 admitting they didn't know what in Hyne's name was going on.

"_A document released by the terrorist organisation known as the CLF confirmed_

_ their involvement in the attack.  The paper cited suspected child abuse and political_

_ power manipulation as reasons for the attacks._

A detailed political analysis of major events followed, accompanied with information

 on the Gardens, on the organisation they thought might have been involved and other crap.

  He read on.    

_Are the Gardens really getting too powerful? Write in with your opinions now_!"  

Seifer was tempted, for maybe a second, to write in to point out that without Balamb 

Garden they'd all be paying homage to the Forces of darkness or floating in little particles in outer space

…not to mention being picked out the teeth of various unpleasant and spiky monsters.

Eventually, he decided he couldn't afford the postage and glanced up, feeling vaguely

 disappointed that someone had managed to wreak that much havoc. If anyone was

 going to do it, it was going to be him. 

Quistis was rushing round the flat, collecting up her things.

"I have to go." 

"What about the key."

"Forget the key." She had a little puzzled frown between her eyes that meant she'd forgotten it too.

Seifer's hand went immediately to his pocket. "I'm coming."

"You are not. I need to phone. You don't have a phone, do you? I need to get back

 to the hotel so I can use the phone there, and you can't come back to the hotel because

 the receptionist is still gunning for us." Quistis threw up her hands, slid her glasses 

down her nose and then pushed them back up. "So no."

"Don't you think you're over-reacting?" he asked. Her voice was getting to his head.

 The paper lay on the table between them like a ransom demand. 

"I Do. Not Overreact." Quistis slung her bag over her shoulder. 

 Seifer recognised the look on her face.  Back when he'd been a little kid watching 

his favourite TV programmes all the fake medieval knights had had much the same 

expression on their faces while buckling on their swords and spurring their fiery-eyed

 chargers into the fray. 

He held one hand to his head, concentrated really hard on ignoring the pain and said, 

quietly, so not to hurt his ears, "Okay. You don't. But the Garden isn't going to fall 

apart just because you're not there. "

_In fact, because _I'm _not there, it's probably in better shape_.

"Don't you think they'd have told you by now otherwise?

She paused, halfway out the door. "Yeah, that's right, Xu should have phoned me."

Seifer fished the key out of his pocket, brushed lint, pieces of cigarette ash and nameless

 crud off and put it into Quistis' unresisting hand. He felt a small gleam of happiness at 

being the logical one for a change and stubbed his cigarette out on the table.  "Because

 you're on holiday? Remember? Come on."

"You don't have to come."

Seifer kicked the gunblade under the table and snatched up his own keys. "Fine, I'm 

just walking in this direction."  

_Besides, I want to know what's going on just as much as you, and not just because_

_ they might blame it on me if they knew I was alive…._

Quistis slipped the key into her pocket and was halfway out of the door in front of him

 before she stopped and turned. "Just ..Seifer, change your clothes, okay."

Seifer looked down at himself. Walking had not made his assortment of aches any less,

 though the coffee had cleared up some of his richly-deserved hangover. He told himself

 firmly that the damage wasn't all that bad. Highly visible, but not even close to serious

 trauma.

Still, he found it hard to argue with Quistis' idea. He grabbed the nearest crumpled T shirt

 off the pile on the floor, sniffed it and shrugged it on, hissing at the pain in his shoulder.

  The stitches felt tight against his skin.

As an afterthought, he picked up a can of deodorant from the floor, held it six inches away

 and sprayed it in liberal quantities over all his clothing. The jeans were pretty much beyond

 hope, but then even before the fight they'd been well on their way to crunchy.  They got

 changed, anyway. 

Quistis didn't say anything, but he could have sworn that the woman was stifling a wince

 as she turned away to go down the steps.

 Seifer followed, locked the door just in case there was anyone desperate enough to 

steal from him, and joined her. They walked down the street together, under the hot sun,

 fast. Mostly the tourists got out of their way. It could have been the expression on Quistis'

 face, the fact that she moved like a threat, or even Seifer's black eye, but they moved.  

He gave her a careful look.

There was a certain tightness round Quistis' eyes and she had sweat marks under her arms.

 Tiny beads of perspiration beaded in her hairline, pulled into a shape Nature never meant it

 to hold. By anyone else's standards she still looked immaculate, by Seifer's standards she

 was so tidy it bordered on sterile. Judged by hers, the woman was a wreck.

He tried to cheer her up by making casual conversation. It was a mistake. Conversation

 had never been his strong point. Threats, yes. Small talk, no.

"You think it's terrorists? Really?" 

Quistis pushed her hair behind her ears, irritably. "Terrorists? Why would terrorists want

 to attack Garden?" Her shoes clicked on the pavement with the speed of an express train,

 _clicketyclicketyclickety._

"Because they think it's a cruel animal massacring power-hungry megacorp that trains cute

 little orphaned kids to be fighting machines?" Seifer said. He reached for the ever-present

 packet of cigarettes in his jeans, cupped one against the sea breeze and lit up.

 Quistis shot him an angry look and he added "Just guessing" unrepentantly.

"I'll terrorise _them_." Her lips had compressed into a thin pale line and the paper tucked 

under one arm was crumpling.

"There's nothing worse than people who think they're doing the right thing." Seifer said

 noncommittally. He sneaked a quick look at Quistis to check she'd got the message

She gave him a look.

"What? I 'm just always right."

"You wish." Even her acidly phrased putdowns didn't seem to have the same venom.

  Seifer was worried, even if he didn't even admit it to himself.

He grinned round the cigarette. "You love it."

"Right." Quistis said in a tone of voice that implied _not at all, _and that was pretty much

 it as far as conversation went. 

They finished the rest of the walk in silence. Seifer chain-smoked and Quistis stared

 straight ahead with an expression that implied her mind was working furiously 

behind those neat square glasses.  

Seifer could tell that she was ready to take a train back to Balamb as soon as anyone

 even implied maybe it'd be a good idea if she returned.

Which was admirable and all, but where did that leave him?

Bored, alone, and loserish, that was what.

They turned into the hotel car park.  Quistis headed for the lobby.  Seifer split automatically

 and wandered round the back of the building. He waited outside the fire door and blew

 smoke into the air conditioning vent.

A few minutes later the safety lock rattled and Quistis peered out. "Come on, if you're

 coming." She added, as an afterthought.  "No weapons."

Seifer sauntered through the door, stubbing his cigarette out on the hotel's stuccoed wall

 and throwing it into the flower beds as an afterthought. 

The stub bounced off the hard earth, trailing sparks like a miniature firework.

 "What makes you think it's weapons, maybe I'm just pleased to see you."

Quistis didn't even deign to reply. 

_Well, that one went down like a lead balloon._

Seifer shrugged, lit up again, took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out of

 his nose, which he knew pissed Quistis off.   To his disappointment, she didn't seem to

 notice, though he supposed it was fair.  Having cigarette smoke blown in your face 

didn't really compare with having your home of ten years bombed.

To his surprise, he was feeling vaguely angry about the whole incident, and not just

 because he'd have liked to do the same thing first.  Quistis being so obviously upset

 wasn't helping, so Seifer told himself it was just because she was rattled and left it at

 that.

There was no way he was ever going to feel protective of Garden. Not after he'd tried

 to bomb the place, kill all of its star students and ram it with another boarding school.

Was there? 

They made it up to Quistis' room without incident, sneaking in commando-style round

 the corridors and halls just in case the maid was around. Seifer started to feel like some

 kind of James Bond.  Plus, every time he tried to start a conversation with Quistis the

 woman blanked him. It wasn't until they rounded the final corner and were standing

 outside Quistis' room that he finally noticed a clock.

"One in the_ afternoon?"_

Quistis spoke over her shoulder, rattling the lock." I didn't come round until eleven thirty.

 Well, I did. I visited at nine. And ten. And eleven, but I couldn't get you to wake up." 

She shot him an accusing look.

Seifer blinked. 

_Wow_. 

By his reckoning, which wasn't very reliable, he'd staggered in from the bar at about two,

 so that meant around nine hours in bed.  It must have been some kind of record, for him.

Quistis wasn't paying much attention. He hoped the receptionist hadn't bothered to chew

 her out, because it would have gone in one ear and out the other. She let the both in and 

then started searching around in drawers for her cellphone

The room was in its usual immaculate state, though the piles of paperwork had definitely 

shrunk since last time Seifer had visited.  He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing 

or a bad thing.  

On the plus side, maybe she was taking the vacation seriously, learning to relax. 

On the negative side, it meant you could see more of the wallpaper.  

Seifer nudged a draught excluder shaped like a long fluffy snake with one boot toe and

 then shrugged. He examined the pictures on the wall idly while Quistis rifled through her

 drawers. 

They were certainly better than Ultimecia's décor, those creepy pictures that seemed to 

move as you watched them, but that wasn't saying much.  All sunflowers in vases, 

bug-eyed kittens and crying children that turned his stomach. One of them was made

 of cheese straws, and he wondered vaguely how they'd managed it.

"I just hope everyone's okay."  Quistis said. 

She'd found the phone, finally.

Like all the rest of Quistis' kit, it looked expensive, small enough to have fitted into a

 large wallet and with a sleek silver finish that looked bulletproof and watertight.  

Seifer would have bet money on it having a number of extra modifications, from 

built in taser shockers to miniature knife blades, cameras and hidden compartments.

  Possibly a toothbrush, even.

 She flipped it open, brushing dust off the keypad, which lit up. 

"I wonder if they'll have hit the headmaster's office. That's what I would have done."

 It was said in a worried tone of voice. He could pretty much guess what she as thinking about.

  Or rather, who. 

"He'll be all right" Seifer said, in the tone of voice of someone who didn't give a shit whether

 Squall was alive or not.

"What do you care? You hated him." Quistis keyed in a number, her manicured fingers flying

 over the buttons. She leant against the desk, one long leg crossed over the other while the

 fingernails of her free hand tapped impatiently on the desk.

"Only to keep things interesting." Seifer sprawled out on the bed, bouncing appreciatively.

 He kicked a fluffy cat shaped pillow off onto the floor and wondered if she'd let him listen

 in.  For a minute he considered asking and then discarded the idea like the cushion.  Seifer

 didn't like requesting.  People offered, or nothing.

There was a shrill beep from the dresser. 

Quistis had gotten through to Garden. She spoke into the phone, held one finger to her lips

 and then stabbed her index finger at him, mouthing a couple of words into the air.  

The message was clear.

 Shut up.

 She stabbed another finger at him, this one lower.

Seifer looked bemused.

"Take my pants off?  While Xu's on the other end of the phone?  Okay, if it turns you on…"

Quistis scowled, shook her head fiercely and tried again, pointing one finger at her feet.  

Seifer raised his middle finger in response, bent down and started undoing his laces.  

The boots shed little flecks of leather onto the carpet, their toes cracking and peeling

 like scabs to reveal the metal underneath.  He'd known cadets who scraped the 

leather from the toes of their new boots simply to make themselves look harder. 

Seifer had never seen the point himself. He liked the shocked expression on people's

 faces when they caught one between their legs.

"Hello? It's Quistis, yes, Quistis Trepe. Can I speak to Xu?"

A pause.

"Yes, now. Right now."

A pause. "Yes. I heard the news. Is everything all right?"

Seifer lay back on the cushionless bed and found that if he listened very hard he

 could just about hear both sides of the conversation.  Xu's voice was tinny but faint.

"_Yes. It's okay. I was going to phone you later. Knew you'd be worried."_

"Everyone's all right?" Quistis was absently rubbing the back of one shoe against

her other calf. It made little tapping noises on the table.

_"For a given value of right.__  Squall's livid. Really livid.  You would not believe."_

"I can."

Seifer tried hard not to feel pleased. So the guy actually had a facial expression.  Who'd have thought it?

"_They didn't catch who did it."  _

"Did what?" Quistis' fingers had stopped tapping.

_"Someone managed to cut the electricity off. We don't know who they were, _

_and__ we don't know how they did it.  Some kind of remote controlled signal from_

_ land.  We had to make a forced landing and we're grounded for a couple of days_

_ for repairs.  It made the generators melt, worse luck."_

"Will it take long to fix?" Quistis asked.

_"No.  It could have been worse.  They let all the monsters out in Trabia and _

_crashed__ the systems at Galbadia. They're still trying to clean up. We sent some_

_ people over but it's going to be a while."_

 "We'll catch them." Quistis' voice was absolutely confident. Seifer would have hated

 to be one of the terrorists.

"_Yeah._ " Xu sounded less convinced, as far as Seifer could tell. It was hard to read 

nuances of expression into a voice that sounded like a mouse on helium.  "_Well, I hear_

_ he's got a special mission lined up for you when you come back. It should be fun_."

"Should I come back now?" Quistis sounded very casual, maybe too casual. 

 Seifer couldn't tell if she really wanted to be ordered back, or not, and the thought

 of her wanting to get rid of him he found obscurely annoying.

_Not Quistis. If she didn't want me here I'd be out on my ear. _

_Hell, I'd probably be holding my ear.  In a bag._

"Should I?"

Seifer wondered why she bothered. If he'd been in Quistis' shoes and loved Garden

 as much as she did, he'd have been on the next express back, holiday or no holiday.

  And the terrorists, rebels, whatever, would be in small pieces, or at the very least 

wishing Seifer had never been born. 

But then, for him, time taken weighing the scales of justice had always been time that

 would have been much better spent with a gunblade, some well-aimed spells of the 

fatal kind and a mortuary full of bad guys. 

He held his breath. 

Xu's voice seemed to take a long time to come. "_No.  There's nothing you can do._

_ We've put all new assignments on hold anyway."_

"It's no trouble." Quistis had turned away from him now, staring out over the ocean 

so that Seifer had less to no chance of working out what she was thinking.  She played

 absently with strands of her long blond hair, smoothing the little pieces at the front of 

her hairstyle over and over between her fingers.

"_You're fine, and you've got to stay.  Squall's orders. He knew you'd phone."_

"Required fun, huh?" Quistis muttered.

"_What?"_

"Nothing."

"_Anyway, enjoy yourself. I wish I was there.  I could do with a vacation." Xu's_

 voice sounded wistful even down the phone. "_It's like bedlam in here. What's it _

_like__ in the sun?"_

Quistis visibly swallowed. "It's…. okay, I guess."
    
    "_Anyway, I've got to go. Have a good holiday. Enjoy yourself. "_
    
    "Bye, Xu."
    
    The phone clicked.

Quistis put the phone down without turning round, folding it neatly away. Seifer

 watched her from the bed. He could see her shoulders move as she let a long 

breath out. As he'd expected, she knew he'd been listening and didn't bother to

 fill him in, even supposing she'd wanted to.

She didn't look round. "I'm going to have a bath."

"Fine." He went to get up off the bed and reached for his boots.

There must have been something in his tone, because she turned round and looked

 at him with almost pleading eyes, over the glasses. "Don't go. I need to talk to 

someone."  

The general imploring effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that her teeth were

 gritted so hard Seifer thought it was a wonder they didn't' break. Each word 

seemed to be dragged out of her like a fish on a line.

"I'm not going anywhere." 

Quistis shot a glance at the burn makes still visible on the windowsill "The TV 

remote's on the bed.  Just in case you get bored."

"Sure."

After he heard the water running Seifer rolled over and switched the TV on. He 

channel hopped through a while, rejecting Jerry Springer, cookery and Laguna Loire

 on 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here.' until something caught his eye.

. There seemed to be some kind of nature documentary on…

"_Contrary to popular opinion, male lions are rather cowardly, lazy animals."_

_Interesting.___

He sprawled on the bed, watching TV and laughing to himself.

The programme had finished by the time Quistis came out of the bath, billowing

 clouds of hot scented steam from the open door behind her. To Seifer's disappointment,

 she was wearing a bathrobe and an almost indecently fluffy pair of slippers that 

looked as if she'd eviscerated two rabbits and then stuck her foot in one end.

She sat down on the bed beside him, smelling of lilacs and water, some kind of 

expensive hotel soap he guessed. 

"They're okay." She said it like she needed to convince herself.

"I know, all right."

 Seifer planted a kiss on the only bit of Quistis he could reach, which turned out to

 be her neck.   He laced an arm round her and slid the other down into the small of

 her back. Quistis didn't move away and he took it as a license to continue.

"I'm sorry, okay."

She made a noise like '_mmmph_' that Seifer translated as 'what for?' though the ease

 at which he did this worried him slightly.  

"For last night. For Garden. Just sorry, okay?"

"I may press and frame the moment." 

"Yeah, Seifer Almasy apologises to Quistis Trepe. June,  second year after the wars.

  Make the most of it."

Quistis fussed with the belt of her dressing gown. "I said some stuff, too.  I guess 

I should be all mature and apologise."  She sighed, said "I'm just glad they're all right." 

and leant back on the bed, letting out a breath that should have echoed round the nasty

 faux-antique rafters of the room. Her legs still dangled over the edge and she kicked

 her shoes off, moving one foot against the other. 

Seifer heard them slide to the floor and felt rather than saw the tension slowly disappear

 from her body. He placed one hand flat on her stomach and looked down at her, 

supporting his weight on his elbows. 

If it had been anyone else, he would have sworn that they had tears in their eyes, 

but then it Quistis never wept.  Seifer put the glassiness in her eyes down to reflection 

off her spectacles.

She smiled, faintly.

"Just hold me, okay."

She didn't say anything else, so he did.
    
    Hey, guys. I have nothing to say, except that it really is very hard to stitch cuts with a 
    
    straight needle, because they go _across, and people kind of go _in_. Actually, it's just _
    
    bloody hard. We have to practise on oranges and small plastic doodahs. The html-I 
    
    will get back. Honestly. 'Tis exam season (again) and decidedly unjolly. And anyone 
    
    who spots the gratuitous Counting Crows reference gets a cookie.
    
    Reviewers: 
    
    Altol, (two! Oy.  I loved the last ch of F&I, btw. Very, uh, inventive, especially what 
    
    with the nudity.), Amber Tinted, (Witty…maybe. Sometimes. On occasion.), ayanamiyuy,
    
     (Thanks. Angst is good, but too much isn't. Um.) breaker-one, (No, action figures 
    
    aren't sad. I have a Yuna one which I won in some drawing competition and a 
    
    homemade Delerium and Princess Mononoke that my sister made me. Maybe she
    
     should customise me a Ken. I'll suggest it.:D), Ghost140, ( Hey! 1-0 to you!), 
    
    nynaeve77, ( The cat is my version of Kuroneko. I like cats.  And Trigun.), Mana 
    
    Angel (Romance is not subtle-that's my fault. I tried to squeeze two chapters into 
    
    one and then ran out of time. Ah well, that's what rewrites are for.), superviolinist, 
    
    (Yup.  The Keyhole was a dive. I love English pub culture: you can go for a drink 
    
    at eighteen without being made to feel like some kind of social deviant) 

kate ( Everyone thinks they're such sweet little things,

  Soft downy feathers and nice little wings.

           But there's a poison I'd like to administer,

You think they're cuddly but I think they're sinister. 

         What are they doing at night in the park?

  Think of them waddling about in the dark.

           Sneering and whispering, stealing your cars,

 Reading pornography, smoking cigars.

           Nasty and small, undeserving of life,

They smirk at your hairstyle and sleep with your wife.

           Dressed in black jackets and horrible shoes,

Getting divorces and turning to booze.

           Forcing old ladies to throw them some bread, 

Who could deny they'd be better off dead?

           Look closer and you may recoil in surprise.

 At web-footed fascists with mad little eyes.

          Ducks! Ducks! Quack! Quack!

The March of The Sinister Ducks, by the Sinister Ducks.(edit))

…which has led to a happy week thinking up variants with 'Mercedes' and 'rabies'

 and 'pills' and 'ills' and ..oh, I could go on for hours. 


	10. Chapter Ten: The Devil's In The Dreaming

Chapter Ten- The Devil's In The Dreaming. 

Now I lay me down not to sleep

I just get tangled in the sheets

Swim in sweat three inches deep.

I just lay back and claim defeat

Chapter read and lesson learned

I turned the lights off while she burned

So while she's three hundred degrees

I throw the sheet off and I freeze.

Who needs sleep (_well, you're never going to get it)_

Who needs sleep (_tell, me, what's that for)_

Who needs sleep (_be happy with what you're getting, there's a guy who's been_

_ awake since the Second World War_)

Barenaked Ladies: Who needs sleep?

_It has been a long time. _

_Seifer isn't exactly sure just how long, several weeks at least.__ It seems longer,_

_ or may be shorter. _

_Ironically, on the face of it, the cell is better than the old chambers in the D _

_District prison where he vaguely remembers incarcerating Squall in the wars,_

_ this one newly, scrupulously hygienic. It's much easier to hose blood off _

_neoprene-coated__ plaster than rough stone blocks, and besides, these rooms_

_ have a thoughtfully situated drainage grill in the middle of the floor. The_

_ moulded plastic floor tilts slightly down towards the grate. Seifer has woken_

_ up most mornings to find himself lying on top of it, body moving downhill _

_during__ the night._

_Mornings and nights are present in name only, he's not altogether sure of the_

_ time in the real world, outside the walls. The corridors are windowless, lit by_

_ electric lights in the day and dimmed at night. Inside the room, it is never truly_

_ dark.  The disorientation this creates is not an accident._

_In good prisoner fashion, Seifer started out marking the days on the walls with a_

_ dropped biro, in scratched crosses and gated groups of lines, but after the second_

_ room change he gave up. He used the pen to stab a guard so they took that too.  _

_Besides, he isn't sure he wants to know how long it's been._

_It has been long enough since he's had any sort of proper conversation that_

_ isn't curses, threats, or repeated and hopeless denials. He is beginning to_

_ learn that 'I can't remember' is never what anyone wants to hear, and that_

_ 'pretty please with sprinkles on top' is never a recommended form of interrogation._

_These are just one among many things that he is beginning to understand.  _

_The words 'multiple' and 'life' and 'sentence', and what they really mean. _

_The fact that people suspected of terrorist activity can be held in custody_

_ for any length of time without charge. _

_The rules are different here. There are more of them for a start._

_To begin, it's not a prison. The official name is 'penitentiary', an archaic term_

_ that doesn't seem to fit.  He's never felt all that penitent. But regret and_

_ contrition isn't going to bring back the people he killed, that they tell him_

_ he murdered._

_He's never heard most of the names before. Whole lists of names, people_

_ in the wrong place at the wrong time._

_It might be the right time, but he is most definitely in the wrong place.  Shut_

_ in a box somewhere in Galbadia like a particularly malevolent birthday present._

_He has a number, and that's about it, apart from guards. He always has guards._

_The place is seven and a half feet wide, the roof so low he can almost reach_

_ up and touch the ceiling with his fingertips.  It has a narrow door and a metal_

_ framed cot bolted to the wall and a stainless steel toilet, fixed likewise. Seifer_

_ has stared at all of them half a hundred times and they're beginning to lose_

_ what little charm they had in the first place. _

_He is barefoot and the plastic floor is cool on his feet: they took away his _

_boots__ after one of the guards was rendered permanently incapable of having_

_ children.  Seifer misses them occasionally, when he remembers._

_There is no blanket. Theoretically one should not be needed, but he suspects_

_ someone of playing around with the thermostat because it never seems to_

_ be warm enough. Blankets can be torn and plaited, he heard someone say, _

_they__ can be twisted into a rope long enough to strangle._

_But he already knew that._

_Sound carries a long way in the corridors._

_It makes it harder in a way. He doesn't want to know about the guards' kids_

_ or what they do when they're not beating on people, how many strikes their _

_sons__ scored in the latest bowling tournament, their pet dogs. They have mugs_

_ with their names on, and heavy duty Sig Sauer automatics that can punch a_

_ bullet through an inch of lead._

_Seifer wonders, sometimes, if they tell their kids what they do all day. Whether_

_ they do little dumb things to pass the time, like everyone used to do at Garden._

_ One thing is for sure, they don't make many mistakes. _

_What mistakes they make, they pay for dearly. _

_Of course, Seifer gets it back, with interest later. He's not as much giving violence_

_ as loaning it out for a while, but it makes him feel like he's doing something. The_

_ tally stands at two broken wrists, one broken nose, three  bruised kidneys, two _

_fractured__ skulls and one permanent case of infertility to the guards and he can't_

_ remember how many to him.  People visit with Cure spells every so often,_

_ efficiently eliminating the physical evidence on his body. After they've finished,_

_ he looks better on the outside than when he came in, the constant barrage _

_of__ magic erasing his scars._

_The fighting pisses his guards off even more. They would dump him in solitary, _

_but__ he already is. There isn't a whole lot more they can do that they're not doing already._

They _are always the Galbadians._

_Most of the time, they're all he sees._

_On rare occasions civilians are allowed down into the cells. They pass through_

_ the heavy doors, down flights of stairs with their shoes clanging loudly on metal_

_ walkways and eye the other prisoners like frightened sheep gazing at wolves. It_

_ isn't strictly within the laws to allow civilians in to view prisoners, but the people_

_ that run this place make the rules. _

_Seifer's always allowed to clean up before they come. He watches as they talk _

_nervously__ about the weather and eye him with unfriendly eyes through the tiny_

_ slit in the top of the door. Other, angrier visitors bang on the chequered bullet_

_ proof glass, crying, demanding why, why.  _

_He doesn't say anything._

_He doesn't know why._

_He is beginning to understand that he doesn't know a lot of things._

_Great time to have a revelation, huh?_

_He understands that they tell him they want information. They don't say why, _

_and__ he thinks some of the time that that is unfair.  They seem particularly_

_interested__ in the sorceress and how can he put that into words? _

_Saying; it was like being drunk, and wishing he was.  _

_Saying, I loved her, and not even remembering who the hell he was talking about._

_They ask, are you sorry?_

_But he can't really remember what he's got to be sorry for.  _

_Apart from being caught._

_They don't really care, anyway. The debt can only be paid in blood, and there's_

_ not enough credit in his body, it seems. He can't die five hundred and thirty-eight_

_ times just to please them, although the sophisticated Curaga variants allow_

_ serious injuries to be healed in a matter of days.  _

_This is not a cause for celebration._

_Officially it is illegal for physical interrogation methods to be carried out under _

_Galbadian law for the purpose of obtaining information.__  Officially it's also a _

_mandate__ that every male over eighteen years old must carry out one hour's _

_archery__ practice every day, and this rule has about as much relevance as the first._

_ Seifer tries to tell them nothing, but he isn't sure exactly how much he knows, _

_how__ much they already know, isn't sure what they want to hear, isn't sure what_

_ they plan to do with the information. _

_Nothing good.__ He is sure of that._

_He is aware that information on just what they are trying to do might be of use_

_ to Balamb, and finds this frequently ironic, or more often, just dumb. He can't_

_ even help himself._

_It scares him more, in a way, when they are nice. Like he's going to tell them _

_everything__ in return for a blanket and the reward of getting the lights switched_

_ off while he sleeps._

_Dream on._

_Besides, he doesn't owe Balamb a thing._

_Really.___

_ As soon as Galbadia squealed, Garden chucked him out like a grenade someone _

_had__ just pulled the pin on. They don't want him, and honestly, he can't blame them._

_Seifer can almost imagine Squall's expression when the Galbadians knocked on_

_ Garden's door that day in September. He wonders if Squall had even let them _

_finish__ their demand before he asked where to sign. One some days he thinks yes,_

_ on others no. _

_Mostly no.___

_ He's never had any illusions about Squall's opinion of him. He thought he saw _

_the__ new Commander as the soldiers took him out, backs bent against the pouring_

_ autumn rain, but it probably wasn't him. He thought he saw Quistis as well, but _

_he__ knows she wasn't there. _

_It would be nice if she had been, instead of out on a mission. It might have been_

_ different otherwise. Quistis and Edea were the only ones who would have cared_

_enough__ to try and make a change. Edea had been a thousand miles away, visiting _

_the__ old lighthouse, Quistis almost as far, and as far as he is concerned now they _

_both__ might as well be on the other side of the moon._

_He thinks about Quistis a lot. Sometimes he dreams about her. Her and Edea/Ultimecia, _

_Squall, Rinoa, the works.__ Dreams are funny things, although his are not particularly_

_ amusing._

_Sometimes he dreams about dreams._

_But that's stupid, because nobody dreams about dreams._

_It's all stupid and fake. _

_It's not real._

_Thank Hyne._

Seifer groaned and woke up. 

_Shit._

His hands were fisted in the pillow and he could feel sweat cooling his body.  He hadn't been

 making noises or thrashing round or anything, though, because Quistis was still lying asleep 

next to him. They'd finally gone to bed at midnight, Quistis too angry and Seifer too hungover

 to try anything more athletic than sleeping..

Seifer rolled over carefully. Quistis slept on. She looked kind of cute when she was asleep, 

more relaxed than in real life without the diamond-hard sheen that covered her like a shield

 as soon as she opened her eyes. Seifer decided he liked her either way. Whatever. It was

 just fine.

He'd never had it so good. 

And that was the problem, pure and simple.  Despite all the wars, all the things that he'd 

done and the others he reckoned he must have (because who the hell else was there to blame),

he still had this.

By rights, it shouldn't have been a dream.

By rights, he should be where he'd put Leonhart in the wars. That prison. Maybe he shouldn't

 be anywhere, lost in time compression, or just dead, he didn't know.

He exhaled quietly. It had been so damn vivid.

None of the books he'd read had mentioned anything about weird dreams. Perhaps it was

 something to do with Time Compression: things that might have been, were going to be, 

were, maybe, somewhere else.  

Wherever they were, he was glad they weren't here, and that he was.

It was an unfamiliar feeling. 

Quistis moaned in her sleep and then rolled over onto her front, pulling the sheets around her.

 She was just as beautiful in the dark.  

In Braille.

Did he deserve this? Did he deserve her?

The little traitor voice in the back of his mind whispered, _of course you don't. _

Seifer squashed it, but like a bug it slithered its way out again.

He sighed and knotted his hands behind his head, glancing over at Quistis. She didn't look

 so upset. 

It was two a.m., not so long after all since they'd finally got to sleep, and he didn't feel 

in the least tired. The shadows were long on the ceiling from the sodium light parked 

outside their window and the crickets clicked ceaselessly, a quiet omnipresent sound 

that was only there if you listened for it and then impossible to forget. The faint roar of 

the sea was a constant undercurrent beneath the noises of the bugs. Seifer rolled over 

and then guiltily threw an arm across Quistis, resting his hand in the curve of her waist.

She didn't wake.

He lay staring at the ceiling, feeling wide awake and counting down lists in his head for an

unmeasurable number of minutes until he opened his eyes somewhere else.__

_Seifer stands alone on a desolate spit of land. It's night, and the air smells of _

_salt__ and iodine from rotting seaweed. Waves crash and break around him,_

_ showering him with spray._

_It is some time before he thinks to look around him. It's hard to see in the dark,_

_ but the architecture is both familiar and horribly wrong at the same time. Broken_

_ stones and columns stick up like ragged teeth in the night. The old orphanage is _

_covered__ with weeds, overgrown and derelict. The path is hardly visible under the _

_grass__ and brambles but Seifer doesn't think to ask how the hell he got there. He_

_ turns and looks out to sea again, the night wind howling in the ruins behind him._

_It's very dark. _

_There is a small scraping of metal on stone. A few seconds are wasted as he looks_

_ at his own feet to check it's not him, but his boots are fighting for purchase amid_

_ seaweed and limpets.  Seifer looks up. _

_A familiar scarred profile stares back at him._

_Squall._

_Leonhart is dressed in his usual clothes, (which from the look of them he must have_

_ to superglue on in the mornings) gunblade sheathed at his hip. He's hard to see in_

_ the dark, though his pale face is creased in a puzzled frown, the scar standing out_

_ in a red weal between his brows just like in the wars._

_And further back, past him, there is Edea. _

_Sliding past Squall, his gaze fixes on her._

_She's not in her old sorceress garb, instead she looks almost normal, too young,_

_ maybe, because Edea must be knocking on for forty now if he really stops to_

_ think about it. She looks achingly unhappy, leaning against the old gatepost in_

_ the dark. Her body is twisted in on itself miserably and she looks more alone than_

_ Seifer has ever seen her, up to her ankles in tangled blackberry brambles. Left_

_ untended, they've spread into an untameable mat, dark and twisted, with huge_

_ prominent thorns that catch on Edea's long skirt, pushing her off balance. _

_She puts out a hand to the gatepost to steady herself and the old rotting stone_

_ crumbles and slips under her fingers. The brambles move like a living thing, _

_faster__ than Quistis' whip they snake up and loop round Edea's wrist to pull at_

_ her arm.  She tugs at the stems and drops of blood run through her hands like rain. _

_Seifer can't see a wound, it's funny that he can see so well when it was hard to_

_ see even the outlines of the ruins a moment ago._

_Edea raises her head and opens her mouth in an inaudible wail, dark hair falling_

_ round her face. She looks directly at him and Seifer suddenly knows that he has_

_ to go to her.  He accepts this, can dimly remember this being what it was like in_

_ the wars, just knowing._

_ He tries to move, and can't. _

_It's like walking through treacle, slow and dragging, His hands feel like lead_

_ and his boots slip over the rocks, painfully aware that the sea is only a few_

_ inches away. More spray touches his face._

_A few feet in front of him Leonhart's mouth opens and shuts like an extremely_

_ feminine goldfish.  He might be shouting but the wind carries his words away. _

_Seifer shakes his head and shouts back; can't he see what's happening? He _

_tries__ to raise a hand and point but it's too slow and from the sudden panicked_

_ look on Squall's face, it's the wrong thing to do. The wind howls in his ears,_

_ though he can hear the click of Squall pulling the hammer back quite clearly. _

_He HAS to go to her. Can's Squall see? He always was so damn blind._

_Seifer' face feels wet. _

_In front of him Squall's scar has suddenly begun to drip blood, the drops _

_falling__ in a long crescent shaped arc. The blood sheets down the side of his_

_ nose, but this doesn't seem to bother him as he raises the gunblade to his_

_ shoulder like a rifle. Dark light glints off its blade._

_Seifer screams insults at him desperately, hoping to annoy Squall and force_

_ him to lose control. It doesn't work, not must of a surprise, because it never did. _

_He swings a fist at Squall's chin but pulls the punch at the last minute as he_

_ watches Squall's lips twist in a snarl much like that of his lion and his finger_

_ tighten on the gunblade's trigger. The movement throws Seifer off balance _

_and__ he stares down at the sea which is suddenly a lot further away, waves _

_swinging__ round in a vertigo-inducing whirlpool of water_

_Edea, behind Squall, cries out. The brambles are up to her waist now, covering_

_ her legs and twining round her waist. The sight fills him with desperation.  Why_

_ isn't anyone helping? Can't they see?_

_Can't Squall see?_

_He pushes forward again desperately. Squall shouts at him, shoving at him, face_

_ angry, tense and worried. The scar pulls his eyebrows down into a deep slash._

_It seems like it's important to him that Seifer stay where he is. Seifer is_

_ unimpressed: since when has he done anything that Leonhart wanted him to do? _

_His eyes flick to Edea._

_She's not there Instead a mound of brambles covers the spot where she once stood._

_ As Seifer watches a pale hand waves desperately at him from within a tangle of_

_ thorns. He thinks he sees her eyes, her mouth, through holes in the vines. Her lips_

_ form two words._

_ Help….._

_Me._

_Seifer snarls and throws all his weight into Squall; who's taken by surprise and_

_ pushed back. In doing so his glance rakes over the ruins of the orphanage, but_

_ he seems to see nothing out of the ordinary and throws an arm out to block _

_Seifer's way.__ Seifer grabs his wrist, and twists it, hard. They're both shouting_

_ but as before the only noise is the howling tempest of wind and waves rimming_

_ a circle of silence. No breeze so much as fans the collar of Squall's coat.   For_

_ a moment Seifer almost forgets about Squall's other hand, the one holding the_

_ gunblade, but then Squall pushes him back with more strength than Seifer ever_

_ thought he'd have in that skinny body and takes a swing with the Lionheart._

_ It hits Seifer in mid chest, but Squall obviously isn't trying to kill: the blade_

_ is reversed. Even so, it does its job. The blow knocks Seifer off balance for a_

_ second, pushing hard enough to make him stagger, and that is enough to tip_

_ him off the edge of the cliff and into the sea. There are strange little glimpses_

_ of images as he falls: _

_Edea, now totally covered in bramble vines, Squall, standing over the drop. _

_He doesn't look exultant, just tired, shaky and vaguely troubled. Seifer opens_

_ his mouth to tell him what he really thinks of him but right then he falls into_

_ the water and it's probably just as well . _

_He hits the sea like a dropped stone. The cold salt taste of it fills his mouth _

_and__ he can't breathe. His clothes are heavy on his body and in a panic he_

_ kicks up, trying to get to the surface. The current tugs and pushes at his body._

_ He opens his eyes, sees a paler green rectangle and kicks towards it but when_

_ he reaches the surface his hands meet only flat rough boards. Bubbles escape_

_ from his nose and mouth_

_He's drowning_

_No, he's not._

_Pathways click into place in his mind._

_It's the jetty. He swims a little to the right, out from underneath and then pulls_

_ himself up and the wood. He's barefoot and wearing a T shirt and shorts, both_

_ red and slightly too small. This is not a surprise, for it is daylight, and summer._

_Seifer looks down at himself and suddenly realises he's a lot shorter.  _

_He gets up from the jetty and wanders off, jumping onto close packed sand that_

_ feels gritty and cold between his toes. Water sheets from his clothes and they rub_

_ uncomfortably, making him squirm. It's making him cold, but this isn't the only_

_ reason that getting soaked to the skin is not a good idea. _

_The thought flies quickly from Seifer's head as he reaches the nearest rockpool. _

_It's so interesting out here, and there's never any one else around. He lies down _

_on__ his belly and stares at the tiny crabs and sea anemones, swirling one hand in_

_ the pool in a vain attempt to catch one. The anemones, funny name, turn into_

_ tiny jelly lumps when he pokes them. This is fun, so he sits in the sun and pokes_

_ them for a while until they won't come out anymore and then he wanders along_

_ the tideline, kicking at beer bottles washed up by the sea. _

_The bottles smash and clink on rocks, shattering in an immensely gratifying way. _

_Seifer is careful to keep out of the way of the shards, they're sharp and jagged_

_ instead of smooth and rounded like the glass brought up by the sea. He likes_

_ smashing bottles, they make such a great noise._

_Drying salt feels sticky and rough against his skin, but he soon forgets to feel_

_ uncomfortable._

_The tide brings all sorts of interesting things, pieces of bottle glass, chinks of_

_ redbrick and shells and funny looking bones. Stones with holes in them are_

_ lucky, though he can't remember why, and the shiny oblongs that look like _

_plastic__ are eggs of a fish and they're called mermaid's purses. From time to_

_ time he picks one up and checks to see if a mermaid might have left any_

_ money in them, though he's too old to really believe in mermaids now, and_

_ then runs on as another piece of flotsam catches his attention. Soon he's_

_got__ a whole pile of interesting things, a whole crab claw both top and bottom,_

_ five pieces of bottle glass ranging in colour from clear amber to blue,_

_ a stone with a hole in it almost large enough to fit on his finger, and a_

_ broken pair of sunglasses. He likes these because the one remaining lens_

_ is cracked and when you look through it the light shivers off the broken_

_ pieces and turns the world into crazy shards._

_By now he knows he's almost as far as he is allowed to go and his trove_

_ is getting almost too big to hold by himself.  It's hard work having to_

_ carry it all and often when he stops to pick one piece up another falls out_

_ of his hands, so he stuffs the smaller pieces of bottle glass into his shorts. _

_The stone slides easily onto a frayed piece of thin blue nylon rope washed_

_ up on the tide from some fishing boat and he hangs it round his neck. The_

_ rest is still awkward to carry though, and he knows he should go back._

_One last look along the strand first….and there something is. Seifer feels a_

_leap__ of excitement as he catches a glance of a strange rounded shape sitting_

_ on the sand ahead. Excitement wars with caution as he gives a last wary _

_glance__ over his shoulder_

_It's clear._

_He's not sure who he's looking for; no one comes to this beach anyway, and_

_ he hurries on. _

_The treasure, when he gets to it, is even better than he thought. It's a strange_

_ shape, smelly like the crab claw he's already got but much larger, a dish as_

_ big as his two arms with a stiff spiny tail sticking out one end. Seifer takes a_

_stick__ and carefully tips it over. Underneath there's a row of little tiny legs,_

_ curved up like the dead woodlice he finds round the skirting boards and when_

_ he hides under the steps.  _

_ The whole thing has an alien air of slightly organic, rotting oddness that charms _

_Seifer.__ He picks it up, arms locked firmly round its shell. The other things he's _

_collected__ fall from his small hands and rattle round it, cascading onto the sand._

_ It's heavy and he almost drops it, shifting his grip tenaciously as the shiny hard_

_ shell tilts to the left and the right and then inexorably downwards to the beach._

_ It leaves a trail of muddy water on his T shirt and this gives him an idea. _

_Seifer takes his shirt off, scratching furiously between his shoulderblades to _

_dislodge__ sand, and wraps it round the thing. It looks kind of absurd, like the_

_ monster's wearing it, but he's determined not to leave his new plaything behind. _

_There's a faint feeling of unease, he knows he should be back by now, but there's_

_ still no one along the beach for as far as he can see and the strange treasure can_

_ be dragged along the sand in his shirt quite easily. The sunglasses fit inside its shell,_

_ on top of the little curled legs. The crab claw is tossed contemptuously away: this is_

_ MUCH bigger, and it's not just one tiny little leg, it's the whole thing. It looks like_

_ armour, like what they wear in videos and the news reports that sometimes flash _

_on__ when his father watches the TV. His father always swears and flicks them off_

_ but they look exciting. They're from other places with more trees and no beaches_

_ or sea. People are always running about, talking in tense voices. They look like_

_ they're doing something important. _

_Seifer wants to be something important, like a fisherman or one of those TV_

_ people with real armour, but right now he wants to examine his interesting_

_ found thing.  It looks like a real monster, just like TV. His father always says_

_ that there are no monsters round here but his father is wrong about a lot of_

_ things and now he's wrong about this too.  _

_Seifer thinks monsters are fun._

_He drags his monster back to the jetty without incident. The beach is still empty_

_ and this is good, but the treasure has soaked his shirt with dirty water and this_

_ is bad. Seifer can see the top of the house from the jetty all black and peeling _

_with__ corrugated iron. He knows that he should wash his shirt before he goes_

_ indoors, but he also knows that he's got to be in before the sun sets. _

_The shadows are already long so he unwraps his shirt from the monster and_

_ takes it out of the bag. He empties his pockets and places his stuff carefully _

_on__ the jetty and then he squats down on the boards and washes the thing first,_

_ because if it made the shirt dirty, it must be more dirty itself. It looks like it's _

_swimming__ when he splashes water over it so he dangles it in the sea and that's_

_ even better because it looks like it's moving, its little legs hanging down to _

_sway__ with the motion of the water. Seifer looks around._

_It's getting dark, but there's still no one else there._

_He looks quickly over his shoulder and slides in the water, holding the monster_

_ tightly with one hand round its tail. It's almost too heavy for him to lift like this_

_ on land, and he's afraid the tail might fall off, but he can hold it just fine in the_

_ water. It looks kind of like a dragon, with a hard shell and a long pointy tail. _

_When he grows up he wants to fight dragons._

_He swishes the monster about on the water, pretending that it's a dragon. It_

_ terrorises the limpets on the side of the jetty for a while before he slays it with_

_ great enthusiasm using the leg of the sunglasses._

_The monster is dead. Seifer feels great satisfaction watching it float upside down. _

_ He treads water for a second, forgetting almost that the monster isn't real, and_

_ it slips, falls.  He isn't fast enough to catch it and it sinks almost lazily to the_

_sandy__ floor below the jetty. A fish, silver and shining like real armour, darts down_

_ to nibble at it. Seifer is indignant. _

_After all, it's HIS dragon. _

_But it's also getting dark, and something keeps nagging at him. _

_A second fish joins the first. They butt at the shell, almost turning the monster over._

_Seifer's scared, a little bit. The shadows are deep under the jetty and he realises_

_ it's almost dark.  He's frightened of the sea in the dark but then he won't be able_

_ to come back and look for it later, and he might not be able to slip out in the_

_ morning. The fish might have eaten it by then. He's only five, but he's a good_

_ swimmer._

_Seifer takes a deep breath, holds his nose, upends neatly and kicks towards the_

_ bottom. Eyes tightly screwed shut, he bumps into the pilings, his outstretched _

_hands__ making the fish shy and dart away nervously. He slits an eye open just_

_ enough to see the thing, his water dragon, and snatches it to his chest._

_He's got it._

_Seifer kicks up, filled with satisfaction, his lungs bursting.  It seems to have_

_ got very dark all of a sudden._

_He surfaces about a foot out from the jetty, arms still wrapped tightly round _

_his__ dragon, and kicks towards the wood. It's getting dark now and he's more _

_than__ a little scared, his breathing fast and panicky, but he's proud, because_

_ he's got his dragon back, and he's done it all by himself. _

_He lifts the monster carefully onto the planks, though it's heavy.  The weight _

_of__ it as he struggles to lift it over his head ducks him back under the surface_

_ again so he can't see for a minute, salt stinging his eyes as waves from the_

_ ebb tide slap against his face. Something clasps his wrists, tightly, and lifts_

_ him out._

_ It s not gentle._

_ Josef Almasy grabs his son by the arms like a hooked and landed fish and_

_ dumps him unceremoniously on the jetty, streaming water. His shadow is _

_long__ as he stands over the boy, his speech slurred, but Seifer doesn't notice,_

_ though he does remember now what he was supposed to do._

_He was supposed to stay inside._

_His father picks up the ruined shirt, waves it in his face and then tosses it to_

_ the jetty where it lands with a slap. He's shouting, speaking fast, too fast for_

_ Seifer to follow. He starts to cry in confusion, silently, snivelling with his_

_ arms wrapped tight round his body as he tries to explain that he was fighting_

_ a dragon. _

_The senior Almasy is not interested in either his son's incoherent explanations_

_ or his frequent and increasingly desperate gestures towards the shell of the_

_ horseshoe crab._

_He's more interested in his bad manners and the stink of crab and iodine on_

_ one of his only sets of summer clothes, which he's outgrowing fast. There's_

_ no money for more, no money for much these days. _

_He tries and fails to hide his growing anger and frustration with a child that_

_ would sometimes try the patience of a saint. And Josef Almasy has never_

_even__ pretended to be anything like a saint_

_Seifer's father picks up one foot and stamps it though the crab's carapace. _

_A lift of his booted toes under the shell kicks the crab's remains flying over_

_ the sea. The second kick sends Seifer sprawling to the jetty. His father shouts_

_ incoherently, grabs him under his chin and pulls him up to face him. His_

_ breath smells hot and foul and saliva spurts in little droplets from his open_

_ mouth to land on Seifer's face._

_ Seifer squirms in his grip and stats to cry properly, fighting back the tears. _

_His father doesn't like boys who cry and snivel like little girls_

_His father doesn't like a lot of things, including kids, especially ones who_

_don't__ do as they're told._

_Seifer wonders sometimes why he got one in the first place._

_His hands pull and tug uselessly at his father's thick wrist, desperate but tiring_

_ himself out fast. The drunken drawl frightens him, and his stomach hurts from_

_ the kick. His father makes no response, except to lift him higher until his bare_

_ feet are almost off the boards. The grip round his throat has tightened to an iron_

_ vice and he no longer has enough breath to cry._

"What did I tell you not to do?" 

_After a few seconds of desperate airless gasping the man drops him and there is _

_an__ instant of floating release before he hits the jetty, hard, his legs crumpling up_

_ under him. His father has picked up the shirt again in one hand and he bends _

_down__ and shakes it at his child, calling him familiar old names that Seifer doesn't_

_ understand, throwing punches and kicks that he does only too well. There's still_

_ no one around, or even if there was, it's too dark to see anything. All Seifer can_

_ see is the angry whites of his father's eyes and his teeth when he opens his mouth_

_ to shout and the white T shirt he's wearing, pale blurs in a huge angry dark shape._

_ The jetty is a pale island in a sea of nameless terrors and the ocean that was so_

_friendly__ and engrossing earlier has turned into a dangerous place. Waves suck and_

_ splash under the jetty as the tide retreats. _

"I told you not to go out there! You didn't listen. You never listen. It's like talking to a 

brick wall. It's like talking to myself."

_The man crowds Seifer out, walking closer and closer to the edge of the boards,_

_ his legs barring the safe way back to the beach. Halfway there the boy starts to _

_whimper__ and cling to his father's legs and this infuriates the man. He kicks Seifer_

_ a few more times until he lets go and falls back, mouth wide and wailing in terror._

_ He's shivering now, in fear and cold, because the sun has completely set._

_It's late._

_Seifer is almost as frightened of his father as he is of the sea but then he knows_

_ what his father can do to him. The fishermen say that the deep water fish can _

_suck__ the flesh right off your bones. The night makes the water look very, very _

_deep__ and he doesn't want the fish to eat him. _

_It sounds as if it might hurt_

_ He's used to hurting but he's afraid that this might hurt worse.  In his fear he_

_ tries to dodge back to the beach but all this does is move him closer to his _

_father__ who kicks him again, twice more in the ribs and then into the side of his_

_ face and his arms when he curls them over his skull. The last kick pushes him _

_off__ the jetty and into the black water._

_It closes around him and the boy fights it with strength he doesn't know he had_

_ in him. He opens his mouth to scream and it fills with saltwater, the cry _

_evaporating__ in a cloud of bubbles. It's too dark for him to see, and he can't_

_ feel anything except terror and the cold soft sigh of the ocean all around him. _

_Then Seifer feels his father's hand on his arms for the second time this evening._

_ His father saves him from the water, lifts him up and pulls him out on the jetty,_

_ still crying with seawater running in streams from his mouth and clothes and skin._

_The man waits as his son gasps on the boards, blood and snot and tears dripping_

_ from his face.  After he decides that a suitable interval has passed, he hauls the_

_ boy up, one hand on his shoulder. He speaks gently, this time, his fury seemingly_

_ run out. _

"I'm only doing this because I don't want you to get hurt. You know that, right? 

You know that, boy. You could get hurt wandering off alone."

_Seifer nods frantically.  Yes, he knows that. He stands up unsteadily and drags his_

_ arm across his face. It doesn't wipe the blood off so much as spread it around, and_

_ for a moment the man's face creases in a frown that it's too dark to see._

"There's some crazy people out there. Crazy people."

_His father picks up the shirt off the jetty, and hands it to the child, who takes it_

_ automatically._

"You don't want to get hurt."

_Seifer shakes his head no. The man places an almost gentle hand on his head_

_ and they set off across the beach to the sandy house, Seifer with one hand_

_ tight fisted in his father's trouser leg to help him walk. The other clutches his_

_ ruined T-shirt._

_His father's hand slides down, warm and heavy across his shoulders.___

"It's for your own good, boy. You know that, don't you?"  

Seifer came awake with a crash and a gasp to find that he'd fallen right off the bed

 in the night, torso on the floor and legs from the knees down still lying on the 

mattress next to Quistis. His head ached from recent impact with the floor. 

_It's onlyadream,onlyadreamthey'rejustdreamsso damn real goddammit _

_I thought I grew out of not ignoring those fuckers about the same time my _

_voice__ broke…._

_Guess not..___

Quistis must have woken up a few seconds after he fell out of bed. Seifer vaguely

 heard the faint scrabble of her hands on the bedside table as she searched for her

 glasses and then saw the faint glimmering reflections of the lenses in the dark.

Her voice was crisp and sharp as always. "What's the _matter_?"

The noise jerked Seifer to full awareness. The blankets were wrapped around him

 like some kind of mummy. They smelt of sweat and confusion.

"Nothing.  Just bad dreams."  He blinked. The darkness pressed in around him, 

thickly hot and heavy.

"Again?"

"Quistis, everyone has dreams." Part of his mind did a mental victory dance ( Quistis 

Trepe knows my sleeping habits, hell yeah) and the other half growled, shit , it's not

 your fault., you can't help it.  

Women. 

"They're not _mad_."

"Nightmares? Every night?"

Hyne, how could the woman be so damn coherent at whatever the hell time it was?

"I'm getting up for a bit. Go back to sleep." He pulled on his boxers, almost tripping 

over the tail of the sheets, and tossed them back on the bed. Quistis made a small sound

 of assent, or anger, or surprise, as she was buried in folds of billowing cotton.

She was still fighting her way out of them as he made his way silently across the room 

to the open window. The floor was cold on his still-damp feet.

Seifer climbed out onto the balcony and stared out at the glowing lights of the city and

 thought that in other circumstances, they'd have made a great target. The breeze was cool 

and pleasant in sharp contrast to the heat of the day. He could feel sweat drying in the roots

 of his hair.  It itched.

Stupid dreams.  As if he had to have the right number of nightmares to prove he still had 

some kind of conscience left.

_My father.._

_I….._

"You used to sleep all the time in my class." Quistis joined him on the balcony, bare feet

 and hems of pyjama bottoms brushing the boards in a soft rustle that he liked. Her hair 

was pulled up into a messy bun.

"Because I don't sleep at night." Seifer leaned on the railing, which creaked alarmingly, 

showering termites and dust to a watery grave. Nightmares? Take your pick.  His issues

 had to have time shares.

_ I've got the whole abused child thing, and then the mind control sorceress thing_

_ where I fed my ex to the Powers of evil, oh and tortured one of my friends and_

_ tried to kill you a lot, and then the bit where I got hunted down like an animal _

_and__ had to fight this creepy thing made of sticks.  That's a lot to fit in.  _

_And I don't even sleep all that often._

He flicked a glance at her for a moment. Quistis' face was calm and unreadable in the

warm dark, but Seifer could see the light reflect from her eyes. Far above, crickets

 squeaked their tiny creaking sounds against the noise of the sea in the distance.  

He added, defensively, "And you need to cut your toenails."

"You know, I read once that sleep patterns can't be disturbed without serious 

psychological consequences, including a loss in sophisticated social functions."

"Nnn." Seifer switched off. Quistis was the only person he knew who could get away

 with sounding like a textbook on occasion, but that didn't mean he had to listen.

She gave him a black look. "Figures." 
    
    "I hallucinate sometimes. That seems to take care of it." Hyne, times like this his fingers
    
     itched for a cigarette.
    
    She gave him an odd look that meant that she didn't know whether he was joking or not 
    
    and then must have decided he was, because she smiled. "We don't _have_ to sleep" 
    
    He turned away from the lights without much effort, starting to grin. 
    
    "Sounds good to me."
    
    The last word was spoken very gently into her neck as Quistis moved forwards to press 
    
    into him. She looped her hands round his waist and Seifer hugged her round her shoulders,
    
     more grateful than he would ever have admitted for her acceptance, for not asking questions 
    
    or trying to dig any more secrets out of him.
    
    A few seconds later he slid his hands downwards, the movement starting to pull the thin
    
     silky pyjama top down over her shoulder and round her waist. Her skin was pale in the
    
     night and fine crackling strands of her blond hair stuck to Seifer's hands.  She made a
    
    small slow sound of satisfaction, took his face in her hands and kissed him thoroughly
    
     and with great attention to detail until they both had to come up for air.  Her mouth tasted 
    
    of toothpaste. 
    
    Seifer muttered "I'll have to have some more nightmares…." as they slid very slowly to the
    
     floor of the balcony. Sex might not be the most recommended method for laying old ghosts
    
     to rest but he was willing to give it a go.
    
    Five minutes later the balcony began to creak gently, showering splinters and termites into
    
     the night.  
    
    Alternate chapter song -and reason for the title-' I Wish I Was A Girl', by the wonderful
    
     band Counting Crows ( "I'm going down to Hollywood, they're going to make a movie
    
     'bout the things they find crawling round my brain.)
    
    As for the ficbits cunningly disguised as dreams: the Seifer-child one is heavily inspired by
    
     Keri Hulme's The Bone People. When I was a kid at the beach I'd always stuff crab claws
    
     in my pockets; on a trip to Virginia a couple of years ago I found some giant horseshoe crab
    
    shells and thought how much I would have loved them, say, ten years earlier. The bit about 
    
    the prison is kind of my response to all those prison ficbits on ff.net. It's not D-District, by the way.
    
    The other one is just a freaky dream, because most things work best in threes –see
    
     bishonenink's Touchstone(pt2) for the same 'Seifer-and-Squall meet up after everything 
    
    at the orphanage' thing.
    
     I am nothing if not unoriginal, despite my best efforts.  
    
    I hope you like it.
    
    Reviewers:
    
    Amber Tinted: He will return eventually. Probably.  Maybe. Just not yet. They way he's
    
     going, it may be for the funeral.
    
    Breaker-one-I actually won the X2 action figure for designing alternate costumes for Payne.
    
     I want that game. Looks very cool.
    
    DBZ Fanfiction Queen: I'm working on a short Seifer/Edea drabble at the moment: 
    
    so far it seems to be ranging from Disturbing to Very Disturbing, with rain later.
    
    Ghost 140: There was going to be an argument, only it got kind of defused somehow.  
    
    Of course I'm going senile, I just hit the big 22. Commemorative slippers, pipes and 
    
    Zimmer frames can be sent to the usual email address. 
    
    Nynaeve77: The explanation for why Quistis isn't returning will be in the chapter after 
    
    next. Love and peace!
    
    Seatbelts: 2! Ta guys. Drugs are bad, mm'kay?
    
    Seventhe: I wrote the hangover chapter after a father-daughter bonding session 
    
    involving the truly excellent film Touching The Void, two bottles of wine and one of 
    
    Chivas Regal whisky.  I do my research. And the drinking culture is waaay different 
    
    here than in the US.
    
    Superviolinist:  Well, if it's a Seiftis fic, you can pretty much work out how the pairing's
    
     going to go. I may be evil and break them up sometimes, of course.
    
    NB-have now finally laid my hands on a copy off ff8 for my PS1-so am joyfully rediscovering
    
     the world. We tried naming Squall 'Mandy' for a while, but it just didn't fit.  Am 
    
    currently tying Squall to cross in vaguely Jesus-like-way and molesting him.  Squall isn't 
    
    making much sense, Seifer is being vaguely disturbing, and everyone else is getting on with
    
     kicking some serious monster ass. Ph33r m4 m4d 5k1llz!
    
    Kate ( they look like pirates from here, oh I've been one for years, just keeping my hand in..)


	11. Chapter Eleven: People Who Say That They...

Chapter Eleven: People Who Say That They Knew Me…..

There are people who will say that they knew me so well

I may never go to heaven

I hope you go to hell…

Counting Crows. .Mr Robinson and His Cadillac Dream

Throughout this chapter most of Seifer's thoughts are in _italics_. 

Not very pleased with this one.

Seifer woke up some hours later. He snagged Quistis' small and expensive phone

 from the bedside table and checked the time. It was early, but already light, six am,

 and a beautiful morning.  The sun shone, the noise of seagulls drifted through the open 

window and there was a naked woman in his bed.

Technically, of course, they were both in Quistis' bed, a fact he was sure she'd remind

 him of as soon as she woke up. Seifer didn't mind. Sometimes it was the outcome that

 mattered, not how you got there. 

Quistis was still asleep, looking about five million times more innocent that she ever

 managed when awake.  Seifer didn't want to wake her for two reasons. 

Firstly, because they hadn't got much sleep the night before. 

Secondly, because he really needed a cigarette.  

He was pretty much aware of Quistis' caustic opinion of smoking, which was that it 

was an antisocial habit practised by people too old to know better and everyone else

 who didn't give a damn about their state of health in ten years' time.

Seifer's opinion was that there were plenty of things that would kill you faster.

He shrugged out quietly from under the sheets and walked over to the balcony, pausing

 on the way to retrieve his boxer shorts from the floor near the window. There was still

 half a packet of Carcinoma Angels and a lighter in his jeans pocket. 

_Worse ways to start the day…_

He lit up, stepped out onto the balcony and threw the packet and lighter quietly back

 inside, aiming for a pile of clothes. Most of the room was covered in discarded 

clothing, so it wasn't exactly a challenge.  It muffled the impact of the box bouncing

 to the ground, anyway, and that was all he'd wanted.

It was cold outside, early enough that the sun hadn't yet cleared the roof. Seifer

 shivered and wished he had more clothes on, cupping his hands round his cigarette

 like it could warm him up.

He looked down at the floor, stretched till his joints popped and then cursed as his

 stitches reminded him forcibly of their presence.   Quistis' blue pyjama top 

decorated the boards underneath his bare feet, damp with dew and more 

creased than it had probably ever been in its short and neatly folded life. Seifer

 rolled it up with one heel and kicked it inside.  

The cigarette smoke and the early morning breeze blew away the phantoms of 

the night before, fading into a not-quite memory deep in the back of his skull.

Newly exorcised, Seifer's brain turned to other matters.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Quistis was still sleeping peacefully,

 sprawled out over most of the double bed. Seifer allowed himself a brief smile.

He held the cigarette loosely between two fingers and thought about the bomb.

Technically, of course, it wasn't a bomb, but if all the electricity had been knocked 

out it sounded like an explosion to him.  Take out the generators and the whole 

Garden went down. It didn't even have to fall with any force. Just settle and tip.

Seifer winced.  

That was how he'd have done it, anyway. Back when he'd still wanted to.

There would be backups, of course. He seemed to remember checking the schematics

 during the wars. Backup everything, and he was still trying to work out just how the

 fuck Cid hadn't known the thing flew.   Not that boarding schools were particularly

 aerodynamic, but the guy had designed Garden. You'd have thought he'd remembered

 telling the builders to add wings. Whoever had planned the attack, they'd been good. 

Whoever 'they' were. The protestors, Seifer guessed. Some stupid acronym had been

 printed on their posters. CLA or something.

Not quite the bunny-hugging nice guys the newspapers had figured them for. The

 protest photographs had showed old ladies and kids with sandwich boards, those

 too young or too stupid or too senile to have figured out that nobody gave a rat's

 ass about what they thought.  And the little old women surely weren't masterminding

 the attacks, not unless someone had been mixing the meds at the old folk's home again.

_It's a good job I'm dead, otherwise they'd probably blame me……..._

He scratched irritably at an insect bite on his leg.  The flies round Hana might not be up

 to Bite Bug standard, but they didn't half itch.

_CLA, huh?___

Children's Liberation Front, his ass.  Motherfuckers. __

His cigarette was almost burned down to the filter.  Seifer stubbed it out on the

 peeling wood of the balcony, ignoring the red-and-black striped No Smoking

 logo of a sign tacked to the wall. He was fast coming to the conclusion that he

 didn't have _any_ socially acceptable hobbies, not if you erased smoking, drinking,

 fighting and his new number one, sleeping with Quistis.

He smiled through the smoke. 

There was movement from back in the room, which Seifer ignored, registering it as

 Quistis getting up.  He knew her well enough now to accept that she had the temper

 of a T-Rexaur in the morning before she'd had her first two cups of coffee.  Seifer

 was still too sore from the fight to risk pissing her off more.

Maybe later.

He sighed, and the movement sparked off a hacking early morning cough he tried

 to muffle in his hands. His lungs felt raw.

It had all been so simple back in Garden.  All the resources you could want, magic

 and money for the asking, light entertainment provided in the form of hapless newbies

 to haze.  In the real world, it was different. 

Especially when you were supposed to be dead. 

When you go right down to it, he supposed, he was angry. 

He was angry that they'd dared to harm something he'd always regarded as his.

  If anyone was going to take Garden out, it was going to be him.

Angry, too, that the damage was hurting someone he was doing his best not to 

regard as his. 

He reached inside the door for more cigarettes and almost bumped into Quistis,

 coming the other way. She was slightly pale, wrapped in her dressing gown and clasping a sheaf of paper.  

"What's up?" 

Seifer could guess. He snagged the Carcinoma Angels anyway, behind her back.

  Quistis was too distracted to notice.  

"Trouble."  Quistis' face was grim. She spread the newspapers out into a fan, 

letting him see the titles. There were seven in all, four fairly reputable major dailies,

 the rest tabloids. All of them featured archive pictures of the Gardens prominently

 on their front covers. Seifer noticed Balamb's airy blue buildings, Galbadia's larger

 squat silhouette and Trabia's mountains.

"You went out _already?_"

Quistis shrugged, her body language unhappy. "I get them delivered to the lobby."

She held a paper out to him.

Seifer shrugged and took it.  He hadn't expected good news, but the headline was still a surprise.

'Self Defence Claim By Garden Strike Team.'

_Interesting.___

He leant the paper on the balcony and selected a cigarette, holding it loosely between

 his teeth while he tried to get the lighter to strike. "Sure. They bombed the biggest 

private military force on the planet in self-defence?"

 "Oh, it gets better." Quistis smiled humourlessly. She held up a few more headlines.

'CLA Claim SeeD Strike'

 'Rebels say Chaos Justified.'

Quistis pulled her hair back with one hand and tucked it neatly inside her bathrobe 

collar. "They're saying that we attacked them first, so they were perfectly within 

their rights in sabotaging the Gardens." 

"Attacked them how?" Seifer asked. He threw the cigarette packet back inside, 

cupping his hands around his second smoke of the morning.  

Quistis shrugged and joined him at the balcony. She leant her elbows on the creaking

 sill and lowered her head between them. "We sent a strike force, apparently. Only 

minor damage." Her voice drifted up from between her arms.

Seifer ran his hand up the back of her neck and absently tucked the tag into the back

 of her towelling robe. "Because of some pizzas? No, hold on, Leonhart ran an op for

 free? They've got to be kidding.  Everyone knows you've got to pay Garden a bloody

 fortune just to get out of bed in the morning. "

"But they've told the papers we've attacked them, and people believe what they read."

 Quistis' voice was patient.  "Despite the matter of a little thing called 'provable evidence.'" 

Despite her crisp turns of phrase, she sounded almost defeated. She'd slipped back into

 teacher mode, voice loaded with so much irony Seifer blinked.  "And they didn't want

 you back?"

"SeeD's bigger than just one person. "

"Sure.  Squall and all the people on his speed dial." Seifer said, nastily.  "People can't be

 believing this? Damn, you lot were flavour of the month not so long ago." He turned to 

face her. "Where's the story?"

"The tabloids love it. 'Plucky resistance faction going up against the largest military 

organisation on the planet.' They're eating it up.  Everyone adores the underdogs." 

She held up another paper. "Remember?"

Seifer scowled and squinted at the title through the haze of cigarette smoke and early

 morning sun. It read, in ornate faux antique print '_The Planet.  The News That They_

_ Don't Want You To See.' _ 

Quistis tore the front page in two. "And it's all the more interesting because it's 

completely fictional."

Seifer absently stubbed his cigarette into the centre of the page.  Quistis dropped 

the paper as it burned and then stamped on the embers with her furry slippers, which sizzled.

"You should cut down." 

Her request met with silence. She put her hands on her hips and tried again.

"Do you know what your lungs look like?"

Seifer squinted at her in the bright morning light and then turned back to the view "No.

  Neither do you, despite everyone's best efforts. Just give it a rest, okay?"

Quistis aimed a swipe at his head with the papers that knocked the cigarette from his mouth,

 a minor bonus. He made a grab for the tiny paper cylinder and missed.  The cigarette rolled

 down the balcony's slightly sloping wooden floor, slipped through the cracks and disappeared. 

Turning away through the patio doors, Quistis casually flipped the nearest pile of clothing

over his cigarette packet and lighter, hoping to toss the whole lot when Seifer wasn't

 looking. "You're really a pain in the neck sometimes."

"You love it." Seifer stared regretfully after his lost cigarette, which was happily 

smouldering among the rhododendrons. 

"There's a time and a place, and this is not it.  I want to check the ratings."

"Ratings?"

"On the TV." 

Quistis settled herself in the bed and flicked the TV on.  It was an expensive flatscreen 

model, out of place in the general ye-olde-lodging-house ambience. It took up half the 

wall and had a quite impressive range of pay-per-view pornography channels. 

Seifer trailed in out of the balcony and settled beside her, leaning back onto the pillows

 and looking entirely too comfortable. He stirred the clothes round with one bare foot

 and asked "Seen my smokes?" 

Quistis thumbed a button. "I haven't any idea. Filthy habit anyway. I repeat, you should

 quit."

"Yeah, yeah."

She turned away and watched as the screen displayed bar charts and graphs. "Look. The

 blue stack's the pro-Garden faction, and that tall red pile is voting for the rebels."

Seifer shrugged. "The blue's still higher." 

"It's all relative, Trust me, Xu's going to be tearing her hair out over this."

"No great loss, then."

Xu had never had a good opinion of Seifer. The feeling had been mutual throughout their

 time at Garden. 

Quistis sighed.  Her friend would probably have seven kinds of fit if she learned that 

Quistis was actually dating Seifer Almasy.  The most favourable opinion of Seifer she'd 

ever heard from Xu's lips was 'He's an arrogant asshole who's going to get someone 

killed one day, and if Hyne has any justice it'll be him."

Seifer's reply had been unprintable.

She hid a smirk and picked up the handset again, searching the news channels randomly

 for more information.  In quick succession she found bad comedy, advertisements, 

reality TV shows, sitcoms, and yet more bad comedy, surfing channels like a Waikiki 

Beach pro searching for a wave.

 "Hyne, give me some news."

Seifer, behind her, folded his arms behind his head and leant back on the bed. He 

stroked his foot absentmindedly up Quistis's spine in a way that was quite distracting.

  "I though you weren't watching smut….oh, never mind, it's just Leonhart…"

 "Where?" Quistis hit the back button.

"That interview. It's got to be him with that hair." He gestured impatiently. "Back."

Quistis stabbed with one finger at the remote control and then paused as Squall's 

distinctive profile came into view.

He was standing outside the gates of Balamb, wearing full uniform and looking vaguely

 uncomfortable in a neutral kind of way. A female reporter faced him, chattering on 

camera into a microphone.

"This should be fun." Seifer muttered from behind her. He'd stopped stroking one foot

 up and down her spine and had moved forwards to sit on the edge of the bed with her.

  Quistis irrationally missed the gesture. She held one finger up to her lips anyway. The

 sound wasn't that loud and she wanted to hear what was going on.

On screen, Squall turned towards the camera and the woman immediately quieted. 

It didn't surprise Quistis.  Squall commanded respect because of who and what he was

 (respectively the commander of Balamb, the hero of the sorceress's wars, and the son

 of Esthar's current president.)

"So it isn't in fact true that you launched an attack on the CLF?" the woman was asking

"Negative."

"Can you repeat that?"

It was almost amusing watching Squall try his honest best to be social. He paused. 

Seifer mimed '_Whatever_' at the screen.

"We believe that they have some kind of personal vendetta." 

"But surely they aren't really a threat to such a large organisation?"

"We are attempting to liase with the group as soon as possible. My PR officer will 

keep you updated."

A small insert of Rinoa flashed up on the screen. The presenter pasted a large smile 

on her face and began a quick aside. "For all those listeners who aren't familiar with

 current events, Miss Rinoa Heartilly, the daughter of General Caraway of Galbadia,

 is currently acting as Balamb's press officer. Miss Heartilly is the fiancée of Commander

 Leonhart and was recently voted ' Best Dressed Of Balamb' in our prestigious TV 

awards! The.."

 "I don't see what that's got to do with-" On-Screen Squall said. He sounded slightly

angry.  The presenter, who wore a large white badge reading 'Hello My Name is Truda'

 and little else, looked alarmed. She tried another tack, gesturing at Balamb's impressive

Frisbee-shaped energy field.  "Is the Garden ready to fly, Commander?"

Squall didn't look any more pleased. Seifer grinned.

"Don't think his anger therapy's helping much."

Quistis gritted her teeth. " He isn't _having_ anger therapy." 

"Maybe he should."   

 "You're hardly qualified to criticise."  

"Quiet, Instructor." Seifer put the accent on the last word. "You're missing the interview."

_Not so much missing as completely lost_, Quistis thought as she looked back at the 

screen. The presenter was winding up her spiel and Squall had disappeared.  She spoke

 into an outsize microphone and shielded her hair from the whirl of Garden's energy fields.  

"We hope to have interviews with the commanders of the other two Gardens later in the 

day. I'm Truda Mostu, and I've just been interviewing Squall Leonhart of Balamb! "  

The screen faded out with a montage of Garden's logo, portraits of Squall and Rinoa and 

a blocky red glyph that could only have been the signature of the Children's Liberation 

Front. "This was brought to you by Breakfast After Noon, the news programme that 

everyone knows is the best! Our news is your news! We'll be right back after the 

weather report! "

The set blanked out, playing a little jingle accompanied by cartoon dancing hamsters.

"_No use, no work, no information -for mindless chatter, we're your station! Back_

_ in one second for more early morning fun!!"_

Quistis reached for the control ad flicked the TV off, checking the time before the screen

 snow crashed.  It was eight thirty, too early for the free breakfast and too late to go 

back to sleep.

Seifer considered the news and fast came to the conclusion that the papers had been more

 helpful.  He was sprawled across the bed, still wearing his boxers and wondering with the

 other half of his mind - the half that wasn't worrying about Quistis- just where his cigarettes

 had disappeared to.

He reviewed the facts, and would have been surprised to learn that Quistis was doing the

 exact same thing.

_One.__  Someone's attacking Garden.  All of the Gardens, which meant they've got _

_some__ problem with mercenaries as a whole.  Can't think why…_

_Two; they're attempting to justify their actions by saying that we attacked first._

_Three.__ They're almost certainly lying._

Quistis reached for a pen. Seifer gazed with interest over her back as she picked up a 

highlighter from the floor beside the bed, wrote four words in lemon yellow ink and then

 underlined the sentence.

_What do they want?_

She stared at the paper for a few seconds. Her eyes were so intense Seifer half-thought 

that the writing would burst into flames, but she just crumpled the note in one smooth 

movement and then threw it blindly into a corner of the room.  She drew her knees up 

tightly to her chest, arms wrapped round her feet, effectively blocking him out with her

 body language. Her chin was rested on her knees, mouth set into an angry line with the

 little frown between her eyes that meant she was trying to work something out.

Seifer had never liked being ignored. He wrapped one arm round her shoulders and pulled 

Quistis closer.  She was warm against him, almost too warm in the rising morning heat, but

 he refused to let go.  He moved imperceptibly closer and ran his tongue down the back of

 her neck.

Surprisingly, Quistis didn't brush him away. She reached one hand up to her shoulder and 

started absently stroking his hand in a way that made Seifer wonder how much she was

 thinking about anything. Her other arm reached round his back to reciprocate the hug.

 It brushed over his stitches on the way to his shoulder.  Seifer couldn't stifle a wince. 

He tensed unconsciously and regretfully watched as Quistis flowed out of his arms like a cat. 

The regret intensified as he realised that she really wasn't wearing any clothes underneath her bathrobe.

"Sorry. I'll get some antiseptic."

 "It's all right." He felt suddenly awkward. "I.."

He wasn't sure exactly what he meant to say, but suddenly it didn't matter.

There was a long knock on the door, followed by a hushed whisper of conversation.  They

 both froze, almost guiltily.

"Who's that?"  Seifer said.

Quistis shrugged.  She got up off the bed and angled her head to peer through the tiny fish-eye

 lens set into the hotel door.  The doorknob rattled sharply.  Quistis's hand moved to the lock

 and then just as quickly moved away again.  She swung back to Seifer.

"You have to leave."

"Now?" Seifer asked.  He reached for clothes. Quistis was already on her knees, frantically

 trying to tidy up the floor. She pushed the lighter and cigarettes into Seifer's arms and then

 followed it with a pile of assorted clothes, a miniature peace offering. 

"Now."

"Uh, how? Who is it anyway?"

"Old friends." Quistis didn't need to elaborate further.

The doorknob rattled harder, this time accompanied by a muffled shout from outside the door.

 Seifer dumped the clothes on the bed and sorted through them, hoping to find his jeans.

 Instead he came up with several items belonging to Quistis that would have merited a closer

 inspection under different circumstances.
    
     "Seifer, last night was great……but could you _please_ dress faster?" Quistis whispered. 
    
    She considered.  "Actually, don't bother leaving. Just hide."
    
    Seifer glanced round the room. His eyes slid over the bathroom and the open window and 
    
    then went back to the door. The banging had stopped, to be replaced by frantic whispering
    
    and repeated taps.
    
    "Where?"
    
    She pointed to the dresser. "Wardrobe."
    
    Thankfully the wardrobe was over six feet tall, fake antique peasant style like all the other
    
     furniture in Quistis' room.  She thrust a bundle of clothes into Seifer's arms and slammed 
    
    the door.
    
    Seconds later there was the sound of a key turning in the look
    
    It was dark inside the wardrobe. Quistis didn't have many clothes, but because she was
    
     Quistis what she did have she'd hung up neatly. Apart from that, it looked as if someone 
    
    had being using it as a storage space, there seemed to be half a dozen moth-eaten fur coats
    
     hung up right at the back.
    
    As wardrobes went, it was okay, but then he hadn't been in many.
    
    Seifer tried to straighten himself out and nearly garrotted himself with a coathanger, trying 
    
    frantically to stop their wire frames from banging together. Holding his breath in the 
    
    close hot blackness, he tried very hard not to make a sound, and listened as best he could.
    
    There was the sound of another key and the creak of the heavy door opening.
    
    "Quistis!"
    
    Didn't he recognise that voice? It had been a long time, but there was just something, 
    
    a faint hint of too many E numbers, that reminded him..
    
    Reminded him……
    
    Selphie.
    
    _Oh, great_.
    
    "Selphie! Rinoa!. Hi. I was just sleeping in!" 
    
    Was it his imagination that made Seifer think there was a slight edge of embarrassment to
    
     Quistis' voice? Was she embarrassed because of him, or was it the whole situation that 
    
    she found awkward?
    
    Seifer suspected the latter.  Rinoa's happy optimism and aura of nauseating cheerfulness was
    
    sure to put Quistis on edge, and Selphie was the human equivalent of candy floss. Four 
    
    thoughts raced through his head in quick succession, maybe because it wasn't a nice place
    
     to spend any amount of time.__
    
    _ She has her boyfriend(sort of) locked in a wardrobe while talking to two friends who_
    
    _ think he's dead and , who, not too recently, were trying to make him as deceased as_
    
    _ possible, and vice versa. _
    
    _Of COURSE it's awkward_! _What do you think?_
    
    _Plus, this is Quistis.  For her being Garden's resident Untouchable Ice-Queen isn't a_
    
    _ act, it's a vocation._
    
    _If this ever gets out, I'm going to be gutted by the Trepies…_
    
     "You brought Angelo! How ..nice!"
    
    _Rinoa__.___
    
    _Oh, shit._
    
    _I don't think she'd mind about Quistis..well, maybe she would have if this was before_
    
    _ the wars, and before she found True Love with Leonbrat,..and before I tried to feed_
    
    _ her to the embodiment of evil…_
    
    _It would never have worked out, anyway._
    
    From the darkness of the wardrobe, he wondered what Rinoa looked like now. There was
    
     a very faint line of light coming from a crack between the doors, where they didn't quite fit.
    
     He inched over to it and squinted through the gap, smelling old mothballs, sweat and 
    
    washing powder, furniture polish and carpet cleaner. 
    
    Rinoa had her back to the wardrobe. Her black hair was even longer, if possible, hanging loose
    
     to her waist in a gloriously impractical sweep.  Selphie was wearing her favourite yellow mini-dress, 
    
    standing hip-tilted nearer the door. She'd cut her hair shorter, a style that didn't suit her.
    
    Quistis was facing them both, seated neatly on the bed. She looked only vaguely flustered, with
    
     no trace of the hint of embarrassment Seifer thought he'd heard a few seconds earlier. But then
    
     that was Quistis, the consummate actress. 
    
    To his disappointment she was fully dressed, wearing some kind of long green skirt which stuck
    
     to her legs in interesting ways and made Seifer wonder why he hadn't seen her in it before. Her
    
     legs were crossed, one on top of another and she locked her hands round one knee 
    
    unconsciously as she talked.
    
    "Didn't expect to see you here."
    
    Selphie giggled. "Surprise!" She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth.
    
     "Squall said we could come and see you! We've got some kind of letter but he said not to give
    
     it you until we were leaving." She tapped the side of her nose with one yellow-varnished fingernail.
    
     "It's a secret!"
    
    "Is it?" Quistis' voice could have cut paper. 
    
    Rinoa moved in front of the doors, stroking Angelo absently with one hand. As usual, the
    
     dog was curled up against her legs, staring adoringly up at her mistress. 
    
    Seifer mentally swore as his view of the room was reduced to a stripe of black hair, blue 
    
    dress and dog fur.   He hoped to Hyne Angelo didn't pick up any kind of scent. Last time
    
     he'd seen Rinoa, or rather, the last time he'd been on speaking terms with her, the dog
    
     and him had reached a kind of multilateral disarmament.
    
     "We knew you'd be getting bored."
    
    The voice was Rinoa's, 
    
    "So what exactly have you been up to anyway?" That was Selphie.
    
    Quistis said  "Nothing much."
    
    Rinoa moved away from the doors and the room swam back into Seifer's vision. He held
    
     his clothes up with one hand and absently scratched the back of his neck with the other.
    
     The fur coats were getting on his nerves. 
    
    Selphie had wandered over to Quistis' computer. She gave Quistis a look of imploring
    
     invitation, typing the password and login number into the machine with a blithe unconcern.
    
    "Oooh! Snake! I love Snake!" 
    
    Quistis rolled her eyes. "Selphie, you installed it. Remember? When you were telling me to
    
     have fun?"
    
    "Did I? Well, you must have had it. Fun, I mean." Selphie settled down onto the chair, 
    
    crossed her ankles and placed the computer neatly on her lap, pressing keys with hyperactive
    
     amusement. Quistis sighed.
    
    Rinoa shrugged.
    
    Selphie ignored them both and tilted the computer on her lap madly, talking to the machine 
    
    and shouting epithets at it furiously when the game failed to go as she'd planned.
    
     "How was the mission?" Quistis said politely.
    
    Rinoa frowned." Okay. He wouldn't let me take Angelo, though. You know what he's like.
    
     He can be so strict sometimes. …" She smiled slightly and flicked her long hair back.
    
    _Strict?__ And you like it…_
    
    _Anally retentive fighting-by-numbers asshole…. _
    
    "He's so hard on himself.  I think he's worried about his job…"
    
    _ He's the fucking headmaster! What's he going to do, fire himself?_
    
    The wardrobe was stiflingly stuffy. Seifer shifted, trying to manoeuvre himself into a 
    
    position that didn't feel as if someone was trying to remove his head with a spoon. He
    
     eventually settled for a cramp-inducing half-crouch, which fixed his eyes firmly on the
    
     crack in the door and his body in a position any contortionist would have envied.
    
    Quistis was still sitting on the bed.
    
    _What the hell are you doing? Get them out of there. And let me out of here. You mad?_
    
    _ Is that it?  Shit, did I keep you awake that long last night? It always used to freak_
    
    _ Rinoa out…._
    
    _I'm going to suffocate._
    
    Quistis gaze fell on the newspaper of last night, left sprawled at the foot of her bed. Seifer
    
     could almost see the gears in her head start to move. 
    
    _No! Put it down! Make them leave! _
    
    He had a horrible thought.
    
    _Worse, don't fuck off and leave me here! The coats smell like little old ladies. And_
    
    _ that's just creepy._
    
    "How's Garden?" Quistis asked.
    
    Seifer swore into the hot, dusty darkness of the closet.
    
    "It's fine." Rinoa said. "There's the CLA, but Squall and Cid are trying to liase with them,
    
    find out what they want. They were just lucky, sounds like. "
    
    "Really?"
    
    Rinoa closed her eyes." Really.  They got in contact with us and made an appointment to
    
     discuss their situation." She spoke with absolute confidence. "It'll work out."
    
    Seifer felt the hackles stand up on the back of his neck, a shiver that had absolutely nothing
    
     to do with the furs. He knew only too well what that kind of connection was like. 
    
    "Rinoa! !That's freaky!" Selphie shook a finger at Rinoa, glancing up from her game. She
    
     held out a hand, wiggling her fingers at Angelo, who sat regally next to Rinoa and ignored
    
     her. "Damn! I lost my save."
    
    Rinoa didn't seem to be offended. "Who else would mess with the Gardens? We're 
    
    stronger now then ever. And I'm doing such a great job with the PR.."
    
    _Yeah?  So good people try to crash your base for no reason at all….._
    
    "Just a bunch of crackheads with bees in their bonnet again." Selphie said reassuringly.
    
    "We should let them have a tour round the school." Rinoa said. "We could give out freebies."
    
    _What? One assassination with every five hostile takeovers? Get real. You always _
    
    _were__ a dreamer._
    
    _Maybe that's why we got along….._
    
    Quistis smiled. She picked the paper up from the floor and riffled through it, tearing out
    
     every page that didn't mention Garden and rolling them into small balls for Angelo to 
    
    catch. "Good point."
    
    "And then we should lock them in the training centre…" Selphie said.
    
    _I knew there was something I liked about Selphie._
    
    "That would be ..wrong" Rinoa said carefully.
    
    Selphie swung a leg and smiled innocently "We could let them out afterwards…".
    
    "There wouldn't be anything _left_."
    
    "And your point was?"
    
    "Selphie!"
    
    _If I wasn't sleeping with Quistis, and if Selphie didn't have such crappy taste in men_
    
    _ and you know, the hair and the dress, and the personality, I think I'd be in love.  _
    
    _Always knew she was evil, deep down._
    
    _Or at the very least, insane.___
    
    "Anyway, I'm sure we have lots more interesting things to discuss." Selphie didn't look 
    
    up from her computer game. "Like why Quistis has a man's sock on the floor……."
    
    She slammed the lid shut, smiling brilliantly round at both of the other girls.
    
    "What?" Rinoa sounded faintly surprised. "I thought you were looking a bit more..relaxed.."
    
    Seifer groaned mentally as he watched Quistis attempt to kick the sock under the bed with 
    
    one bare foot. Angelo darted forwards, gripped the offending article of clothing firmly 
    
    between her jaws and marched proudly back to Rinoa, tail waving with the pleasure of a
    
     job well done.  Quistis almost forgot herself enough to make a grab for the sock and then
    
     folded her arms in her lap, blushing furiously.
    
    _Weird.__ They finally made Quistis go red._
    
    She spoke carefully, each word measured. "I think we should go and get some breakfast."
    
    " Tell us!"  Rinoa took the sock from Angelo's jaws. Dog saliva had done nothing to make it
    
     any more appealing.
    
    "Quistis's got a boooyfriend." Selphie gloated.
    
    "It's about time." Rinoa dropped the sock again. Angelo happily snatched it up and settled 
    
    down into a corner, jaws working furiously as she ripped long trails of yarn from what had, 
    
    until recently, been a piece of clothing.
    
     _Hey! Stupid dog! That's my fucking sock! I only have three!_
    
    "What's that supposed to mean?" Quistis looked cornered.
    
    "It means," Selphie said "that you've needed to get laid for a very long time…"
    
    Seifer grinned in the dark, forgetting about the sock. 
    
    _Ohh__, you have noo idea…._
    
    "Selphie, that was a rhetorical question. It's just a sock. The cleaner must have left it there. "
    
     Quistis sounded slightly guilty. 
    
    Seifer could have told her that it just wasn't going to work, but by the tone of her voice, she
    
     knew it already.
    
    Selphie could scent romance faster than Angelo.
    
    "You can tell us! You don't have to be ashamed……."
    
    "I'm NOT ashamed."

_I would be, if I  were going out with me. Compared to Rinoa, who's going out with a_

_ guy who's on lunchboxes, for Hyne's sake.   Bloody hero. __There's probably women___

_ all over the place who'd gut their own mothers for the chance to fondle his_

_discarded__ underwear…_
    
    "Boyfriends are good." Rinoa looked round. "Angelo! Stop that! You'll choke yourself!
    
    I don't want to have to take you to the vet again."
    
    "Boyfriends are great!" Selphie spun round on Quistis's desk chair, her expression changing
    
     to a pout.  " I miss my Irvy."
    
    Quistis crossed her arms. "Selphie.." 
    
    Seifer smirked to himself in the darkness and then squashed it as he remembered that any 
    
    one of the women in front of him could probably kick his ass, what with him unarmed and
    
     only wearing pants.  He recalled Selphie and her nunchucks all too well: she could be a 
    
    vicious little bitch when she wanted to be. Even Rinoa, with those stupid blast edge things
    
     he'd laughed at, back in Timber… 
    
    The conversation moved on, around him.  
    
    Rinoa sat down on the bed next to Quistis. "No. Squall's great. Squall's good. I wish he 
    
    wouldn't wear so many belts though. He doesn't need them."
    
    "Did you ask him why?" Quistis asked curiously.
    
    "Yeah. He changed the subject. It's not like he needs them to keep his trousers up or
    
    anything…….." 
    
    _He needs then to hold up his suspenders.  _
    
    Rinoa waved her dog's lead. "Come on, Angelo. Leave that horrid sock alone.."
    
    "Talking about changing the subject…..." Selphie rolled over onto the bed. Folding her
    
     hands demurely in front of her she placed her chin on her wrists and asked innocently,
    
     "So- what's he like?"
    
    There was a sudden silence.
    
    It was broken by Quistis taking a deep breath. "I don't ask you what Irvine's like."
    
    Selphie smiled widely. "He's my sunshine."
    
    _Well, that's a bit more PG-rated than I expected from her……_
    
    Quistis tapped a finger on her chin. "It must be the chaps."
    
    "Oh no. I like him much better with them off." Selphie coaxed Angelo onto the bed, 
    
    pried the remains of the sock delicately from her jaws and threw the remains into the 
    
    wastebasket. "Silly dog. You'll poison yourself. You don't know.." She gave a sideways
    
     glance at Quistis "where it's been. Rinoa, what do you think?"
    
    Rinoa looked thoughtful, a small frown creasing her perfect face. "Well, the only two
    
     boyfriends I had were Squall…and Seifer, I guess…….."
    
    Quistis's face went resolutely blank. 
    
    In the wardrobe, Seifer swore under his breath.
    
    Selphie smiled elfishly "Oh! I forgot! I forgot you used to know Seifer…….."
    
    _Please kill her._
    
    "How did they, you know, compare?"
    
    _Screw Hyne. I'll kill her myself. If I wasn't wearing only boxers, supposed_
    
    _ to be dead and wanted in four different countries…_
    
    Quistis covered her mouth and glanced towards the wardrobe. Seifer saw a
    
     fleeting flicker of amusement in her blue eyes. She started to laugh and then 
    
    turned the snicker deftly into a cough.
    
    "What's the matter?"
    
    "Just..choking……."
    
    "So come on, tell!" Selphie encouraged. "I'm deadly serious!"
    
    Quistis groaned. Seifer echoed it, quietly, wishing he had magic junctioned so that
    
     he could cast Silence. Maybe a miracle would happen, and Rinoa would be 
    
    spontaneously struck dumb.
    
    Maybe not.
    
     Rinoa giggled. "Squall likes to be on the bottom. Seifer liked to be on top."
    
    _Shit!_
    
    _I don't want to know how Leonhart fucks._
    
    _I don't want to know if he fucks better than me._
    
    Quistis had gone a pale shade of pink. "That's…..interesting.." 
    
    Seifer groaned again.
    
    No matter how much he tried he wasn't going to black out on purpose. He really 
    
    didn't want to know this.
    
    He wasn't going to be offered a chance in the matter.  
    
    Seifer rested his head against the doorframe and thought very hard about stuffing his 
    
    one remaining sock in his ear. The rest of his clothes were bundled beneath Quistis' bed, 
    
    all except for the sock and his T shirt. Maybe he could stuff the sock in his mouth. 
    
    Poisoning had never looked like such an attractive prospect.
    
    The conversation continued, rolling inexorably on like a juggernaut and crushing Seifer's
    
     never fragile self-esteem under its armoured wheels.
    
    "So why did you guys break up?" Selphie rested both fists on her chin.  "I mean, like,
    
     when we met, you weren't going out with anyone, and then there was the Squall thing…"
    
    _The Squall thing, I like that description_
    
    "In the summer before,… before It." Rinoa had turned a faint and appealing shade of pink
    
    _Just tell her she's being nosy. Little cow._
    
    "There's nothing much to tell." Rinoa said.
    
    "Ohhhhh, you mean HE broke up with YOU."
    
    "No. Nothing like that. It just kind of happened.  Seifer was always Seifer, I guess. He
    
     always used to make me feel so dumb.  Naïve." she corrected. "Kind of innocent. It 
    
    was nice for a bit, but it got a bit old when he wouldn't take us seriously. "
    
    "Sounds like Seifer." Quistis said thoughtfully.
    
    "Yeah,….what was it. Oh yes. Something about 'bleeding heart idealist assholes' who
    
     couldn't rescue a cow from a slaughterhouse.'"
    
    Seifer almost slammed one hand into the door and then caught himself at the last minute. 
    
    Self -analysis? You could keep it. 
    
    _Actually, that does sound kind of dumb….. _
    
    _Of course I can't say that I'd do it any differently now  _
    
    "Harsh, But fair." Selphie said.
    
    "What? We did it!" Rinoa looked indignant. 
    
    "With our help." Selphie replied then, by the sound of, it realised what she'd said. "But that
    
     was, um, a good thing. Right? 'Cause without that, you'd never have met us and you 
    
    wouldn't have met Squall….. "
    
     "You're much better off with Squall. And he's much better off with you." Quistis said 
    
    encouragingly.
    
    _Yeah, thanks, Quistis.  Who needs enemies when you've got friends?_
    
    "Yeah. You've really been good for him." Selphie was backpedalling fast, digging herself 
    
    a hole with such speed Seifer half-expected her to pop out of sight at any moment.  "I 
    
    remember there was that one time when he, when Squall, painted his room black when we
    
     were fifteen. Isn't it great, all these memory things……"
    
    Quistis winced. "I really don't want to remember what it was like when I was fifteen." 
    
    Seifer tried out the image of Quistis as a troubled and insecure adolescent and then 
    
    discarded it. Quistis had been born with the poise of a ballerina and the killer instincts of
    
     an angry great white shark. 
    
    _You weren't that bad. Just bossy, so what else is new?_
    
    Rinoa looked interested. "What do you mean, Squall painted his room black?"
    
    _I remember that.  He was chipping gloss off the wall for weeks._
    
    Selphie smiled. "His two-month Goth phase. We don't talk about it much.  I think we 
    
    were fifteen.  He used to sit in his room all day listening to Nine Inch Nails and the Cure
    
     and writing angsty self-loathing poetry."
    
    _And he dyed his hair black_…
    
    "He dyed his hair black." Quistis added. "But the clothes? Same as ever."
    
    Rinoa said "I'll have to ask him about it."
    
    "Do. Just don't tell him that we told you." Selphie, as usual, was busy lowering the 
    
    tone. "So what's _Squall_ like in bed? "
    
    Seifer shuddered as he tried unsuccessfully to wipe the image of Leonhart's underwear 
    
    from his mind.  Hyne, the man wore a bolero jacket in public. The fur…and the belts….
    
    and the leather.
    
    _At the very least-it's got to be black vinyl. Black vinyl, or panties. Or black vinyl_
    
    _ panties…..eurgh.…_
    
    He moved his head back to the crack in the door, reaching up automatically to muffle
    
     the coathangers. 
    
    Rinoa flicked her hair back and shrugged.  She seemed remarkably 
    
    self-possessed. "Selphie, if I try hard I can tell what he's thinking.  Doesn't that tell 
    
    you something?"
    
    "So he must be really great in…"
    
    "Selphie!"
    
    _Ugh.. Leonhart's going to turn out to be some kind of sex god……Kill me_
    
    _ now….I'm sure there's more than enough volunteers…._.
    
    _I'd feel much better if she'd just sit down and confess that he couldn't turn on_
    
    _ a lamp_…
    
    There was a short pause. Selphie went back to her game. Rinoa smiled smugly. 
    
    Quistis pointedly avoided looking at the wardrobe. Seifer tried his best to jam his
    
     fingers in his ears all the way up to the knuckle.
    
    _Come on, Quistis, it's nine…get them out of here!_
    
    As if in response, Quistis automatically yawned and then put a hand to her mouth
    
    "Have you two eaten?"
    
    "Well, we had something before we came out."
    
    "Not much." Selphie said, digging Rinoa in the ribs. "We left early.  Really early."
    
    "We thought you might be up, and we didn't want to miss you." Rinoa smiled politely.
    
    "But you were obviously doing better things…hey, why'd you tread on my foot?"
    
    Quistis ignored them both and said "There's an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet 
    
    downstairs. We better go if you want some."
    
    "Super!" Selphie punched the air, bouncing from foot to foot. She looked suddenly 
    
    crestfallen. "How much? 'Cause, we don't want to impose or anything."
    
    "On the house. It's all-included." Quistis folded back the bedsheets. "Ready?"
    
    "Oh, _yeah_.."
    
    "Rinoa?"
    
    Rinoa bit her nails. "Sure, I mean, if it's free. But is it all right if I leave Angelo up 
    
    here? I'm sure she wouldn't get in the way…?"
    
    "No!"
    
    Quistis' denial and Seifer's mental shout came at the same moment. Quistis hastened 
    
    to back it up. "They said no pets allowed…they're really strict, and the landlady's a 
    
    bit strange. Anyway, I'm sure Angelo'd love a run in the back garden.  The breakfast's
    
     on the patio, so you can watch her while we eat."
    
    _  Wow. She can lie like a rug…..… _
    
    Seifer watched through the crack as Quistis casually brushed past the wardrobe key 
    
    as she left the room, slipping it casually into her pocket and unlocking in one swift motion.
    
     The door, to their no doubt mutual relief, failed to swing open. This fault might have been
    
     due to the catch or to the fact that Seifer was holding onto it like grim death from the inside. 
    
    Quistis slid the balcony doors closed. When you were a known neat freak, there were 
    
    some things that were expected of you, after all. She walked over to join Selphie and
    
    Rinoa without locking them, listening carefully for any telltale sounds.  There was silence
    
     from inside the wardrobe.
    
    Whether tactful or enraged, Quistis couldn't tell, but she suspected the latter.
    
    _That'll serve you right for getting pissed and then expecting me to clean you up_…
    
    ._And for smoking everywhere.__ And generally making the place look untidy….._ 
    
    She hesitated. _Smoking…. _
    
    "Rinoa?"
    
    "Mmmm?"
    
    "When you went out with Seifer? Didn't the smoking thing bother you?" She closed the
    
     room door, left it unlocked and, after a minute's thought, turned the handle sign round 
    
    to "Do Not Disturb."
    
    "What smoking thing? Seifer doesn't ..didn't," Rinoa added, after a visible effort, "..smoke."
    
    Quistis tried hard not to blush. "Uh, sorry.  Must have got messed up. With those GFs 
    
    it's hard to remember what you did yesterday."
    
    "I thought you'd stopped using them as much." Selphie asked innocently. 
    
    "Yeah, but that was before all that stuff happened."
    
    There was a gleam in her eye Quistis wasn't sure she liked. It could have been due to
    
     the cigarette butts scattered over the balcony, but then again, maybe not. 
    
    Surely even Selphie, who had a treacherously good eye for small details, wouldn't be
    
     able to notice stuff like that?
    
     "No need to be so defensive, Quisty, " Rinoa chimed in " we know you're still the
    
     brains of the bunch…."
    
    Quistis tried hard not to preen, smoothing her skirt down. "We'll be late."
    
    "Don't want that." Selphie chirped. "See you down there."
    
    She ran off down the corridors.
    
    "Is she going the right way?" Rinoa asked curiously.
    
    Quistis shrugged. "I hope not.  Otherwise we'll get there and there won't be anything
    
     left.  You remember who always used to beat Zell to the hotdogs? And he never 
    
    figured why they started disappearing just after Selphie joined." She started to shepherd
    
     Rinoa in the opposite direction, towards the stairs, wondering exactly what Seifer
    
     was doing and praying that Selphie didn't somehow run into him. 
    
    Rinoa plucked a petal from the nearest corridor flower arrangement and held it to her
    
     nose. "She just never stops."
    
    "Only when she sleeps. And even that's rare, now she's got Irvine to keep her 
    
    company."
    
    "They were made for each other." Rinoa sighed. "Just like me and Squall."
    
    Quistis tried not to vomit. "Sure. We really should be getting down to breakfast."
    
    She took Rinoa's arm. "Selphie'll be along in a minute. We should probably 
    
    get her a plate.  Or two"
    
    Selphie caught them up in the lobby with a cry of "Bummer." and a flash of yellow 
    
    dress. 
    
    They had a pleasant and almost entirely ordinary breakfast. Selphie entertaining
    
     them all with a number of interesting and morally dubious tales about the love life
    
     of various Balamb cadets, most of which Quistis hadn't heard of, no matter how
    
     hard she tried to keep up with the news. By some kind of unconscious act, they
    
     all three avoided mentioning Garden after the first hopeful reassurances, saving
    
     business for later.  Selphie and Rinoa either didn't notice or failed to mention 
    
    how Quistis seemed so unusually nervous, shredding her serviette into tiny crumbs
    
     of paper over the table before starting on her styrofoam cup.
    
    It was when they were on their way back upstairs that she first noticed something
    
     wrong. Later, she would vaguely recall that the corridor looked kind of empty
    
     on her way up the stairs, forgetting instantly as Selphie began complaining about
    
     the quality of the breakfast muffins. 
    
    Ten seconds later, she really wished she'd paid more attention. They'd reached 
    
    her room without incident, and Quistis, who was jumping at every little noise, 
    
    half-expecting Seifer to pop out of a door somewhere in a state of angry indignant
    
     undress, began to relax.
    
    She whispered a short prayer to Hyne under her breath as she opened the door.
    
    The second of stunned silence was broken by Rinoa's scream.
    
    "Quistis! They're beautiful!"
    
    "Lovely." she managed between clenched teeth. 
    
    _The bastard.__ The unprincipled, arrogant, selfish..jerk._
    
     Seifer was _so_ going to get it when she found him. The empty corridor suddenly made
    
     sense. No flower vases. Or no full ones, at any rate.
    
    The whole of Quistis' bed was covered with white roses, filling the room with scent
    
     and leaving little damp circles of water on the crumpled sheets. It would have been 
    
    amazingly romantic, if she hadn't known exactly why Seifer had done it. Operation 
    
    Humiliate-Quistis-In-Front-Of–Her-Friends had gone off without a hitch, and the 
    
    whole thing tasted of revenge.
    
    _Oh. Hyne._
    
    _I am never, ever, going to hear the end of this._
    
    _And neither is he, if I have anything to do with it._
    
    She gritted her teeth. Next to her, Selphie had clasped both hands and was bouncing
    
     up and down with a huge grin on her face.  "I knew it! I knew I was right!"
    
    "No one's ever done anything that romantic for me!" Rinoa's voice was one note short
    
     of a whine.
    
    Selphie looked thoughtful "Well, there was this one time, you know, when I took Irvine
    
     to see a show, and you had to dress up, in , like, underwear and things."
    
    Rinoa and Quistis exchanged worried glances. 
    
    "and he wore my underwear. Red suspenders.."
    
    Quistis began to hum quietly under her breath, and Rinoa moved almost imperceptibly
    
     away from Selphie, who was, judging from her expression, on a quick cruise down 
    
    Memory Motorway. 
    
    .."gold panties. He looked _lovely_" She smiled brilliantly
    
     "You didn't get….photos.. did you?" Rinoa asked cautiously
    
    Selphie beamed.  "Lots! You want to see them? I've got them at Garden."
    
    "NO!" They spoke in unison. 
    
    Quistis' eyes roved round the room searching desperately for something to fix on.
    
    They landed, by default, on the flowers. A corner of paper stuck out from between
    
     two stems. She shot a surreptitious glance at Rinoa, who was wincing and blushing
    
     simultaneously, and began to move carefully towards the bed. Rinoa's gaze followed
    
     her in desperation and her eyes lit up like Christmas tree lights as she saw the paper.
    
     "Quisty's got a note!"
    
    "Love letter!" Selphie gurgled.
    
    Quistis snatched the paper from between the wilting flowers and twisted away from 
    
    the bed, holding it at arms' length above her head as Selphie woke from her reverie 
    
    of Irvine in kinky underwear and made a grab for the note. Sometimes being tall had
    
     its advantages.  She angled it towards the light, trying to read the writing, which
    
     turned out to be a mistake. Selphie jumped on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath
    
     her weight and showering petals and drops of water onto the floor, snatched the note 
    
    out of Quistis' hand and disappeared into the bathroom.
    
    The door slammed with a very final thud as Quistis's hand closed on air one inch behind
    
     the Trabian SeeD's collar. This noise was followed by the snick of the latch shutting and
    
     a gleeful giggle that drifted out under the door.
    
    "Selphie! That's personal!"
    
    The noise of unfolding paper. Quistis searched her memory desperately. Surely Seifer
    
     wouldn't have been so stupid as to sign it? "I'll tell Irvine about what happened 
    
    at the last Graduation ball! With the champagne and the grapes on the cocktail sticks 
    
    and that first year cadet with the ginger hair!"
    
    "He knows." Selphie's voice was a sepulchural giggle. "You shouldn't keep secrets. 
    
     It's naughty." 
    
     "Read it!" Rinoa had seated herself on the bed behind Quistis, who was on her
    
    knees in front of the bathroom door and desperately trying to jimmy the latch.
    
    "Don't defend me or anything. I'll remember this" Quistis snapped, uncomfortably
    
     aware that her ice-queen façade was melting fast. "Dammit, Selphie!" 
    
    _Remember, calm, unavailable ice princess..calm unavailable.._
    
    "_Dear Quistis_" A giggle.
    
    _Screw it. _Quistis gave the door an unrepentant boot, cheeks flaming in a blush that 
    
    seemed to work its way up to her face in a great red tide. She was going to cut his 
    
    heart out with a _spoon_.
    
    Selphie's voice was replete with satisfaction. "_The night of passion we spent was_
    
    _amazing__, my darling lady. Where did you learn all those things? We must have_
    
    _ kept the whole hotel up way past __midnight__ so I'll leave you to get some rest with_
    
    _ a token of my pure and undying love. I'm thinking of you, sweetheart. _
    
    _xxx__. _
    
    _ PS- I didn't know you were double-jointed."_
    
    Rinoa collapsed behind her onto the bed in a cloud of giggles and white rose petals
    
     as hysterical laughter drifted from the bathroom. Quistis clenched her fists, face bright red.
    
    Sometimes murder was just too good.
    
    BAM.
    
    A knock at the door. Sighing, Quistis went to open it and stared straight into the 
    
    uniformed pigeon chest of the hotel porter.
    
    "Miss Trepe? There have been several unaccountable thefts from the public areas 
    
    on this floor. Did you hear anything suspi…."
    
    The porter's voice tailed off as he looked over Quistis' shoulder into the room. 
    
    Rinoa was sprawled out over the bed, face bright red with laughter, like a particularly
    
     modern fairytale princess. As they watched, Quistis with an expression of horrified shock
    
     and the porter in amazed and incredulous titillation, she screamed and jumped up, 
    
    showering petals like confetti and with rose stalks hooked to her skirt.
    
    " Quistis, do you know these things have thorns?!….Oh.  Hi." Rinoa gave a little wave, 
    
    smiling winningly. Quistis sighed, eying the trail of flowers, petals and water spread over
    
     the bedsheets and floor.
    
    "I think you better come to reception, madam"  
    
    Hey everyone(all four people who are going to read this anyway). Not much time 
    
    tonight( damn the coursework) so here goes:
    
    Amber Tinted( Quistis says he was a screwed up kid 'beyond troubled' or something,
    
     in the game.), breaker-one (thanks: ) ), DBZ Fanfiction Queen( the infamous Seifer/Edea
    
     fic is coming on (hehe); currently am skating round bad slash. It will be posted when I've
    
     finished it, which is going to be a while yet.), ghost182( what was the question again?) 
    
    mana angel (yeah, the dreams were just me having fun writing ficbits and then wondering
    
     where I could shove them in. ), nynameve77( fp.com? Give me the addy and I'll go 
    
    read it.) Quistis88 (Yeah, I know. Poor Fanon Seifer. But the dreams are just so much
    
     damn fun!) seventhe (I only drink with my father. He's a bad influence, plus, he buys.) 
    
    sulou (The dreams seemed like a good idea at the time. Before I read David Mack's 
    
    Kabuki, which had some awesome flashback prison points I just wish I'd though of
    
     first. Ah well.  That's why he writes amazingly beautiful successful comics. And I don't.) 
    
    Peace out
    
    kate


	12. Chapter Twelve: Forecasts And Prediction...

Chapter Twelve: Horoscopes
    
    Now you may find it inconceivable or at the very least
    
    A bit unlikely that the relative positions 
    
    Of the stars and all the planets could have a
    
    Special deep significance or meaning that exclusively applies to only you
    
    But let me give you my assurance that these forecasts and predictions
    
    Are all based on solid scientific documented evidence
    
    So you would have to be
    
    Some kind of moron not to realise
    
    That every single one of them is absolutely true…
    
    That's your horoscope for today…….
    
    Weird Al Yancovic: Horoscope(edit)
    
    Quistis surprised even herself with her self-restraint.  
    
    There was no need, really.  Her generally repressed personality was
    
    legend (and, in some cases, fantasy) amongst virtually everyone at
    
    Balamb.  She prided herself on the fact that, while any other SeeD
    
    would have immediately made excuses, dived out of the window
    
    and gone after Seifer with all the weaponry they could carry, she
    
    hadn't.
    
    It had been a strain, though. 
    
    Quistis had balled her hands up into fists so tight that her nails left
    
    half-moon marks on her palms while the receptionist had lectured
    
    her on the joys of celibacy, restraint and good hygiene (in that 
    
    order) She'd tolerated Selphie's innuendo and Rinoa's small 
    
    smiles (when she thought Quistis wasn't looking) for all of three
    
    hours after what she was coming to think of as the Flower Fiasco. 
    
    After three hours, or one hundred and eighty incandescently
    
    angry minutes, or ten thousand, eight hundred seconds of 
    
    fiendish, Bosch-like planning of what exactly she was going
    
    to do to Seifer when she caught up with him, Selphie had 
    
    wanted to visit the shops and Rinoa agreed that shopping
    
    might, indeed be a good thing. If only so she could purchase
    
    a new skirt, her old one having been irreversibly soiled 
    
    by a mixture of pollen, crushed white rose petals, thorns 
    
    and water.
    
    It had been easy for Quistis to evade the trip. Everyone knew
    
    her usual hatred of shopping. 
    
    She just lent the other girls her room key, dressed in jogging
    
    shorts and vest, and then set off around the bay. Seifer's flat
    
    was to the north of the hotel, so she headed due south down
    
    the beach road until she lost sight of the building, turned 
    
    around and jogged back into town. 
    
    Right. 
    
    It was payback time.
    
    The sound of her feet on the hot midday pavements conjured
    
    up an easy, automatic rhythm.  To pass the time, Quistis 
    
    imagined painfully precise predictions of what exactly the
    
    coming hour was going to bring.  She categorised her revenge
    
    with care, first numerically and then alphabetically.
    
    By the time she had reached 'torn apart by three terrifying 
    
    Toramas' Quistis had reached the residential area of the city.
    
    Caution made her follow the backstreets just in case Selphie
    
    realised what she was doing.  That was all she needed. 
    
    The Trabian girl had a nose for romance that rivalled prize
    
    bloodhounds and absolutely no tact whatever. Add in the 
    
    curiosity of several thousand cats and an insanely sharp mind 
    
    and you had trouble, plain and simple. 
    
    However, last time she'd  set eyes on Selphie, she'd been busy
    
    dragging Rinoa into the nearest item shop. They'd be a while. 
    
    Quistis counted on two hours before anyone really started to get
    
    suspicious. She'd seen grandmothers with less pride in  
    
    bargain-hunting than Selphie.  No doubt the next time she saw
    
    her, the small SeeD would be holding up some hideous garment
    
    six sizes too big in a fetching shade of earwax, grinning from
    
    ear to ear and proudly flaunting a sale label.
    
    She kept running, the tarmac under her feet warm and tacky.
    
     It stuck slightly to her pristine white trainers and stained them
    
     with dark graffiti scribbles. The time was midday, only a few
    
     minutes past the hour, and hot.  Her aertex top clung sweatily
    
     to her body in the still air.
    
    It still felt strange to be wearing civilian clothes, even after two
    
    weeks.  Quistis much preferred her own clothes to the stiffly
    
    starched and gilded SeeD uniform, but she'd never be so stupid
    
    as to fight monsters in a vest and shorts.  Her outfit, resting in
    
    the wardrobe back in the hotel, had a number of adaptations,
    
    like most SeeD clothes. No garments protected against magic,
    
    but the modifications made everyone's job a little easier, and
    
     kept the infirmary free for those who really needed it. 
    
    Like Seifer would, in a few minutes.  
    
    _Ripped to ribbons by rabid Ruby Dragons… what's next…oh yes…_
    
    _savaged__ by seven slavering Snow Lions… torn apart by three Toramas… _
    
    Infirmary?  The man was going to need several pints of blood at 
    
    the very least. 
    
    Quistis picked up her pace a little, wincing as her tendons started
    
    to tighten, and then slowed again.  She didn't want to arrive at 
    
    Seifer's flat covered in sweat and dishevelled.  It would give her
    
    a distinct disadvantage.   
    
    She turned into the road. 
    
    _It just isn't fair._
    
    Quistis could just imagine Seifer holed up in his room, snickering at
    
    his own intelligence. He wouldn't care if she'd had to pay for all the
    
    flowers (which had turned out to be a lot more costly that she'd 
    
    thought) plus dry-cleaning bills for the quilt.  And there was no
    
    way he could afford to reimburse her for the damage, so that 
    
    avenue of retribution was out.  
    
    Oh, well. Much more painful and satisfying ones were still open.
    
    It was a miracle the manager hadn't made her pay for dry cleaning
    
    her mattress..
    
    Quistis realised that she was grinding her teeth together and stopped.
    
    She really didn't want to have to pay for caps on top of all the damage, 
    
    and she'd reached the end of the alphabet, anyway.  V and W were 
    
    giving her some trouble. 
    
    The road opened out in front of her, houses thinning to either side. 
    
    Not far now.
    
    If Seifer wasn't in, she could wait. 
    
    Aeons, if need be.
    
    Quistis reached the house and rested against its peeling wall for a 
    
    moment while she got her breath back.  The old shop's porch protected
    
    her from the merciless sun and also from anyone who might happen to
    
    look out the window. Paint cracked off under Quistis' fingertips as she
    
    leant her palms on the planks and fought for breath.
    
    Three minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, by her watch, her 
    
    breathing had slowed.  The heat seemed that little bit less oppressive
    
     as her metabolism returned to normal after her run.  Quistis swept the
    
     sweaty strands of hair from the back of her neck, retying her neat bun
    
     in the faded glass of the old shop's front window. 
    
    She glanced critically down at her stained white trainers, slipped her bra
    
     strap up her arm and smoothed an imaginary crease from her vest. 
    
    Leaving peeling rubber prints on the tarmac, she crossed the vacant
    
    lot, still stained with the charcoal marks of ashes, and walked up the
    
    metal steps as quietly as she could. By anyone's standards, that was 
    
    very quiet. The ancient and overweight cat dozing on Seifer's next-
    
    door-neighbour's mat didn't bat an eyelid as she crossed the narrow 
    
    porch to his door.
    
    It wasn't locked, and opened with a graveyard creak at a quick push 
    
    of Quistis' hand.  
    
    Inside, the flat was quiet and at first glance almost appeared empty. 
    
    The curtain that divided off Seifer's bed from his tiny kitchen area 
    
    was knotted back against the wall, fastened with what looked like a 
    
    bootlace. 
    
    A pair of bare feet stuck out from behind the fabric.  Quistis took a
    
    Couple
    
    of stealthy steps into the room and stopped, trying to decide out just 
    
    which one of her revenges to use.
    
    Seifer sat on his mattress, half –hidden by the bunched curtain with
    
    Hyperion laid across his legs.  The sword's case was discarded half-
    
    way across the room and there was a small bottle of oil open on the 
    
    floor next to a sharpening stone. He was wiping a soaked rag down 
    
    the blade with a ferocious expression of concentration as Quistis 
    
    walked in.  She stopped half way across the room, with one hand 
    
    resting on the pitted surface of the table and the other placed 
    
    squarely on her hip.
    
    Seifer must have heard the door swing open, but he ignored it and 
    
    carried on with his cleaning. When the rag reached the bottom of 
    
    the blade he looked up straight into the firing line of Quistis' 
    
    furious glare. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.  It spread
    
     into a smirk and then a sharp grin. 
    
    He put the sword down and began to laugh at the expression on her
    
     face as Quistis crossed the room in two quick strides.  
    
    "What's the ma…aaargh! Quistis! Hey! What did I do?"
    
    Quistis didn't remove her hands from around his neck.  Seifer was
    
     laughing too hard to fight back.
    
    "You _know_." She gave serious thought to removing his head and
    
     then decided that it would be too much work for very little gain.
    
    "What? I left flowers on your bed and now you're beating me up?
    
     I'd hate to see what you'd do to a guy who gave you chocolates."     
    
    It was a shame that Seifer had already finished cleaning his gunblade,
    
     because it would have certainly been possible to sharpen it on the
    
     withering stare he received from Quistis.                                                                                              
    
    "It would have been romantic, if I hadn't known why you did it"
    
    "You should count yourself lucky. You wouldn't have got that 
    
    off Leonhart.  The guy hasn't got a romantic bone in his body."
    
    He considered. "Well, maybe _one_.."
    
    Quistis privately disagreed. She thought that Squall would be 
    
    perfectly capable of being romantic, if there was no one else 
    
    apart from Rinoa within a five mile radius. There was no hope
    
     of trying to explain this to Seifer, though, so she countered with 
    
    a frosty glare and a snarl of "Don't. Ever.  Be Romantic. Again."
    
    Seifer smirked. Quistis decided that he obviously wasn't taking this
    
     seriously enough and punched him in the ribs, not hard enough to 
    
    cause any major damage, but hard enough to hurt. 
    
    "Wha…hey! Stitches, remember. Gerrof. " He ducked under Quistis's
    
     arms, cursed as she caught him a glancing blow on the top of his 
    
    head, and pushed her off.
    
    Quistis managed to get one last kick in before she landed painfully
    
     near the sink.  She grabbed hold of a drawer handle and yanked 
    
    herself indignantly to her feet, taking a deep breath to prepare for
    
     the verbal duel that was almost certainly going to come.
    
    Seifer leant back on the mattress and smirked at her. "Hyne, the
    
     look on your face.."
    
    Quistis looked around for something to hit him with. Luckily, she
    
     didn't even have to think.  The drawer that she'd yanked herself
    
     up with was still open and her questing fingers touched cool metal
    
     as she slid one hand inside.
    
    Cutlery. 
    
    Perfect. Something breakable would have been better, but Seifer's
    
     flat was conspicuous in its lack of delicate and expensive objects.
    
    "You deserved it.  You can't say you weren't winding Selphie up…"
    
     He looked at her through half-closed eyes full of lazy wicked amusement.
    
    Quistis grabbed a handful of forks and threw. If she'd been slightly 
    
    less angry she might have questioned the fact that while Seifer didn't
    
     even own a working kettle, he had suddenly acquired a drawer full
    
     of tomato knives and soup spoons. However, she didn't think to 
    
    check, and by then it was too late.
    
    There was a sudden silence. 
    
    It was broken by a pained comment from Seifer. 
    
    "Hey…It was only flowers."
    
    He brushed a fork from his chest absent-mindedly, knelt on the 
    
    mattress in a clatter of cutlery and yanked an eight-inch Sabatier
    
    carving knife from the wall behind his head.
    
    Quistis' face flushed. She reached back into the cutlery drawer 
    
    and stirred the contents round with one hand, carefully. 
    
    Among the mess of cheap tin spoons and pewter forks, the shining
    
    handles of two other identical knives stuck out like sharks in a 
    
    swimming pool full of toddlers.  Quistis picked one up and 
    
    examined it. Superbly weighted, they looked like regular kitchen
    
     tools until you looked closely and noticed that both sides of 
    
    the blade were sharpened. She ran a finger over one edge, pressing
    
     lightly, and winced as a thin line of blood appeared.
    
    Seifer shrugged and picked up a bent spoon from the floor. "I don't 
    
    mind you breaking my things. I have so many."
    
    Quistis put the knife back in the drawer, shut it and leant on it. She
    
     said "What exactly are those doing in your cutlery drawer?"
    
    She hadn't expected a straight answer, but Seifer surprised her.
    
     "Hiding. Look, don't shout at me for having weapons. At least I'm
    
     not carrying them.  I'm just being…careful."
    
    "Careful." Quistis scooped up forks from the floor. She supposed
    
     that she should have been thankful for small mercies.  Knowing
    
     Seifer, it could just have easily been chainsaws.
    
    "Right." Seifer touched the hole in the wall where Quistis had 
    
    thrown the knife in.  He didn't comment on the accuracy of her
    
     throw but she knew that if the blade had hit hilt-first she would
    
     have never heard the end of it. 
    
    "Did anyone tell you you're paranoid?" 
    
    "Yeah, but I don't really trust them." Seifer flipped the Sabatier
    
     in his hand and threw it into the front door, where it stuck. Quistis
    
     stalked over to the door, placed one hand against the wood to give
    
     her leverage and tugged.  
    
    The knife came free with some effort.
    
    "Show off." 
    
    Seifer grinned. He picked up more cutlery, bundled it in his shirt hem
    
     and then emptied the whole lot back into the drawer.
    
    Quistis tossed the last knife in on top and then wandered over to 
    
    his bed on the pretext of picking up a few more stray pieces." I never
    
     thought knives were your thing."
    
    "They're not. Never were, really. Can't do enough damage with 
    
    knives. But they're easy to hide."
    
    "And almost legal." Quistis commented sarcastically.
    
    "That, too." Seifer said. He walked over to the window, reached for
    
     Hyperion and resheathed it with casual precision. The plastic oil 
    
    bottle was closed and kicked together with the sharpening stone into
    
     a corner of the room that also contained a large pile of Weapons 
    
    Monthlys, one balled up T shirt and a crumpled plastic bag full of 
    
    empty cigarette packets.
    
    Quistis retrieved cutlery busily until she found what she was looking
    
     for.  Hiding Seifer's cigarettes deftly in her palm, she moved to the
    
     sink.
    
    "You know, you should hide that stuff."
    
    "Mmm?" Seifer wiped oil-sticky hands down his jeans, glancing
    
    thoughtfully up at the ceiling.
    
    Quistis dropped the cigarette packet into the sink, opened it and 
    
    turned the cold tap on full blast. "Really."
    
    She could always think up the next scene in her bloody drama 
    
    of revenge while the water was running.
    
    "I'll do it sometime.  I think I know where I can stash Hyperion…"
    
     He stared again at the peeling polystyrene ceiling tiles, walked over
    
     to the window and looked out, turning round to face the roof and 
    
    examining something above the level of the flat's window frame.  
    
    Quistis didn't know what he was doing and cared less, though she 
    
    had the vague feeling that she wouldn't be too bothered if he leant
    
     out too far and fell off.
    
    Seifer climbed back into the flat after a few minutes and stored 
    
    Hyperion thoughtfully away under the mattress without saying 
    
    a word of what he'd been doing. Task completed, he fixed Quistis 
    
    with a suspicious glare, eyebrows meeting in the trademark Almasy
    
     frown. "Hey, what're you washing up for?…" 
    
    "I'm not."
    
    "You're.." Seifer squinted at the sink. "Damm."
    
     Quistis flicked the tap off with the sense of a good job well done. 
    
    "What was that? Am I ruining your last packet of cigarettes, thus 
    
    depriving your nicotine-fuelled little brain the chance to destroy more
    
     cells? Why, yes. I do believe I am."   
    
    Seifer's frown didn't change. "Shit. I guess I deserved that one."
    
    "You think?"  Quistis leant back on the sink, feeling the cool stainless
    
     steel rest pleasantly against her shirt.
    
    "Hey. _You_ were the one who locked me in a wardrobe and then made
    
     me listen to your bloody sex lives for twenty minutes."
    
    "No. _I'm_ the one who just had to pay nine hundred gil for fresh 
    
    flowers. Plus thirty to get the quilt dry-cleaned. And then when I 
    
    go back I've got Selphie hanging off me like a bulldog wanting to
    
     dish the dirt on my imaginary boyfriend." She took a breath. 
    
    "And….double-jointed?"
    
    Seifer grinned. "I didn't have much time."
    
    "I'm going to repay you for that." It was said in a dire tone of 
    
    voice that indicated her vengeance had only just started.
    
    "I'm looking forwards to it." 
    
    Quistis swirled the cigarettes round in the sink, watching them 
    
    disintegrate into a swirl of paper and tobacco. It was a petty revenge,
    
     but incredibly satisfying. "I guess you didn't think about what would 
    
    happen if they found you."
    
    "Never crossed my mind."
    
    There was a certain tone to Seifer's voice that suggested it had, 
    
    several times, but they both ignored it.  
    
    "I didn't think so.  You shouldn't draw attention to yourself."  
    
    "You mean I shouldn't draw attention to _you_."
    
    "Me, you, us. Whatever. It's all the same.  Just…..don't." _Hyne,_ she
    
     thought. _I sound like Squall._
    
    Seifer looked slightly puzzled. "Don't what?"

Quistis pushed her glasses up her nose and pulled the plug on Seifer's

 cigarettes. They circled slowly towards the plughole in a soggy, ruined

 mess. "Anything….oh, I don't know. Don't apologise, anyway."

"I did. "

"Seifer, 'you should count yourself lucky' is not an apology."

_Unless the meaning of the word has somehow been redefined in the_

_ last fortnight…_

"I let you drown my cigarettes…"

His comment did not meet with even the faintest encouragement from Quistis. 

As if in punctuation, a faint slurp came from the sink as the mess of 

disintegrating tobacco and paper wedged in the pipes. Seifer darted 

a worried glance at the sink. "Did anyone ever tell you you've got an

 overdeveloped sense of vengeance?  It's going to get you into trouble

 someday."

Quistis raised her eyes to the peeling polystyrene ceiling.  "Seifer, 

take a long hard look at yourself." _And ask why everyone thinks_

_ you're dead and I'm allowed to be alive_, she could have added, 

but didn't. 

Seifer conceded. "Ahh, come on. Like I said, if it was anyone else

 it'd be romantic. But 'cause it's me, it's wrong, Story of my damn

 life." He shoved both hands in his pockets, hooked one foot round

 a chair and sat down at the rickety table.

Quistis elected to stand. "The story of your life has a warning label

 at the front saying 'Don't try this at home, kids.' And it wasn't anything

 to do with you being you.  It's the fact you wouldn't have even thought

 of it if it was just to be nice."  

"I don't do nice." He ran one hand through his hair, maybe checking to

 see if any part was noticeably shorter courtesy of Quistis's impromptu

trim.

"I noticed."

"Nice is such a damn stupid word. I do great. Amazing, even.  But I 

don't do _nice_."
    
    "I'm still waiting for the apology. That you mean."
    
    "Okay, I'm sorry for pissing you off. I'm sorry you threw a knife at my
    
     head and I'm really, really sorry you drowned my cigarettes, okay?"
    
    Quistis looked unimpressed. The apology was okay, but if she'd been
    
     lucky enough to get Seifer on one of his rare guilt trips she planned to
    
     sit back 
    
    and enjoy the scenery while it lasted.
    
    It must have worked, because he coughed and said "I'll buy you a drink.
    
     They're not expecting you back yet?"
    
    Quistis checked her watch. "I've got an hour. And I don't drink, just
    
     in case you didn't notice."
    
    "A coffee, then."
    
    "I shouldn't really."
    
    "An espresso. Look, they won't be around here."
    
    "Maybe.  But you're paying." She lifted the remains of his cigarettes
    
     out of the sink, fingernails scraping against the stainless steel, and 
    
    threw them neatly into the plastic carrier bag that, in Seifer's view, 
    
    passed for a bin. 
    
    Seifer rolled his eyes and got up, reaching into the furthest corner 
    
    for his boots. "Okay. Need to get some new smokes anyway."
    
    Quistis sighed. "I'm not twisting your arm.  Yet. Thirty minutes, 
    
    and that's all. I should get back."
    
    "Maybe they'll be able to tell you a bit more about what's been 
    
    going on."
    
    "I'd think so. I'll get it out of them one way or another even if 
    
    they're not. And before you ask, if it's classified Garden stuff I'm
    
     not telling you. You're a civilian."
    
    _An uncivil one_, she added, in the privacy of her own head. There
    
     was something about Seifer that resisted classification.
    
    Seifer laced his boots and shrugged. "It's one up from being dead.
    
     Come on, let's get out of here before I change my mind."
    
    "Sometimes I don't know why I bother." Quistis stepped out onto
    
     the narrow porch, moving back so Seifer could close and lock the
    
     door behind them.  She walked down the first couple of steps onto the hot
    
     metal staircase and felt the heat hit her like a blow.
    
    "Me too." Seifer said. He slipped the key into his pocket and followed
    
     her down the stairs.  The next-door neighbour's cat watched them both 
    
    incuriously.
    
    Quistis automatically retorted with "I find that hard to believe.", and
    
     then regretted the words even as they left her mouth.  They sounded
    
     way too snobbish, and she'd never considered herself to be much of
    
     a snob.  A military snob, maybe, but that was something totally 
    
    different, the contempt of a soldier for civilians who needed her 
    
    protection. She reached the end of the stairs and stepped onto the 
    
    pavement, noting the marks that her rubber-soled trainers had left a 
    
    few minutes ago. 
    
    "Yeah, I saw you, when damn Selphie was talking about, you know, Shit.
    
     You thought it was hilarious. You were laughing your bloody head off. I saw you.
    
    You could have told them to leave, or something."
    
    "I thought your ego could stand it."
    
    "Only just. It's going to need a lot of massaging." Seifer shot her a flirtatious leer.
    
    "Don't look at me. My hands are still sore from handing all that money over."
    
    "Coffee?"
    
    "Coffee."
    
    A few minutes later they were seated at a small table in the House Of Leaves
    
     coffee shop. It was more of a bar, a tiny place with a few stools 
    
    that the owner closed down at night by pulling a stainless steel shutter
    
     down in front of the chairs.  It didn't look much, but the coffee would
    
     have stopped a Marlboro in its tracks and in Quistis's eyes, strong
    
     coffee covered a multitude of sins.
    
    She settled back in her chair, keeping a close eye on her watch and
    
     felt the caffeine start to diffuse into her bloodstream, strong 
    
    unadulterated stimulant.
    
    Seifer was half-way down his own cup.  Like her, he'd refused 
    
    milk and then sugar, though she got the nagging feeling that he 
    
    would have preferred something stronger. "Did they actually tell
    
     you anything? Over breakfast."
    
    Quistis sighed, picked up the stirrer and then put it down again, 
    
    unused "You need to let go. It's nothing to do with you any more."
    
    Seifer drank his coffee and said nothing.  Quistis tried to fill the 
    
    sudden silence, which was always a mistake. 
    
    "Get a job or something, Live a normal life. And for Hyne's sake cut
    
     down on the smoking. What're you going to do in five years time,
    
    stand there and wheeze at the monsters?"
    
    "Can you see me ever getting a normal job?"
    
    "That depends," Quistis said carefully, "what you mean by normal."  
    
    She trod carefully. It was the first time they'd talked about any kind of future.
    
    "See?"
    
    "Can't you do what Laguna did? Exterminate monsters, or something." 
    
    She thought she could remember some kind of job like that, in the dreams they'd
    
     shared more than two years ago.
    
    "The day I follow in that floppy-haired moron's footsteps…and 
    
    anyway, I can't use Hyperion. Too damn noticeable. It's pretty easy to forget in
    
     this little beach shithole but sooner or later other people'll remember. And I'm
    
     not going to be around when they do."
    
    Quistis looked round, wondering, indeed, why she bothered. "I'm not
    
     trying to sort out your life for you, Seifer. You're going to have to do that for yourself."
    
    She flipped over one of the many free papers that carpeted the tabletop.
    
    "Nothing about the Gardens?"
    
    Journalists have short memories. There's some election going on in 
    
    Dollet at the moment. That's what they're all talking about now.
    
    "It's hard to vote when you don't legally exist."
    
    "You couldn't anyway. Dollet citizens only."
    
    "Beside, anyone who wants to go into politics is either a jerk or an 
    
    asshole."
    
    "Squall would kill you if he heard you saying that."
    
    "It doesn't make it any less true. But he'd kill me no matter what I said. 
    
    Or have a bloody good go, anyway. Look, it's not my fault his father looks
    
     like a female stripper."
    
    Quistis scanned more of the paper. She focused on the book reviews,
    
     and noticed an ad for some kind of new game.  You could play a banana
    
     republic dictator and decide whether to crush the proles under your jackboots
    
     and try to fight off the outraged mobs, or pander to the 
    
    capitalists and build swimming pools.
    
    Quistis would have gone for the swimming pools, herself.  She
    
     wondered vaguely whether she should order a copy for Seifer.  
    
    Maybe it would act as a substitute for the real thing and teach him
    
    some valuable lessons.  
    
    It was a moot point anyway. He didn't have a computer. 
    
    She turned over a couple of pages, reading the list of candidates for
    
     the Dollet Dukedom Parliament elections.  There were small 
    
    photographs of all the runners, each accompanied by a paragraph
    
    of text.  Many of the candidates looked like serial killers, but then 
    
    Quistis had yet to lay eyes on a passport photograph that didn't
    
     make the subject look like the main suspect in some horrible crime.  
    
    She read the article anyway, because it felt like she ought to. All
    
    SeeDs were supposed to keep up to date with current affairs, if only
    
     to avoid offending somebody in power.  Quistis was firmly of the
    
     opinion that this was a good idea.  SeeD _was_ politics. It was hard
    
     not to get involved.
    
    And she was _good_ at not getting involved. It was difficult for some
    
     people to keep the necessary distance between mercenary and client,
    
     but she usually managed it effortlessly.  The wars with Rinoa (and
    
     of course now the whole Seifer thing) were the only two exceptions.
    
     The latter was currently sitting across the table from her finishing
    
     off his coffee and trying to read the paper under her arm surreptitiously
    
     and upside down.
    
    Quistis raised her elbow, handed him the broadsheet and looked round, 
    
    enjoying the sun on her face.  The view was fantastic, because The
    
     House of Leaves was right on the seafront.  She drained her coffee
    
     cup to the dregs and glanced down the boardwalk swiping steam from
    
     her glasses with one hand. Beneath the newly cleared lenses, her
    
     eyes widened.
    
    A single word hissed from her lips. "_Damn_."
    
    Seifer's coffee cup was empty.  He'd spent all of two seconds
    
     reading the paper before discarding it on the floor and sprawling
    
     back in his chair, stuffing the free sugar sachets into his jeans
    
     pockets. He didn't look up at her words. "Sam who? Don't tell
    
    me you've got another secret lo-"
    
    "Seifer, just get into the back of the shop, okay." Quistis placed one 
    
    hand on the top of the paper to hold it up in front of his face, half-turning
    
     in her seat to keep a better eye on the crowds. 
    
    Seifer irritably tried to glance round the paper at her and then pushed it 
    
    to one side. "What?"
    
    "Selphie. Rinoa. Here. Now." Quistis said, and swallowed. She suddenly
    
     felt acutely exposed and guilty in a kind of schoolgirl way. The warm morning
    
     had turned suddenly chill. 
    
    "You're joking."
    
    Quistis dragged her chair round to block out the view from the shop. 
    
    "I wish I was."
    
    Seifer hooked his seat nearer to the front hatch with one foot and peered
    
     out at the beach round the white-boarded wall. "Yeah, yeah. You're not getting
    
     the better of me that easily."  He absent-mindedly brushed her
    
     finger with one hand, sugar gritty against her palm. Back and forwards,
    
     and then his hand abruptly stopped.  He was close enough that she 
    
    could hear him inhale sharply in surprise. "Hyne, it's them." 
    
    "I told you so"
    
    "Yeah, but you tell me I'm an asshole several times a day and I don't
    
     take any notice of that."
    
    "I thought you said they wouldn't be round here."
    
    Seifer frowned. "I don't know! I just said it to make you feel better.
    
     Didn't really think about it." He retrieved the newspaper from the
    
     floor and flipped it up to cover his face again.
    
    Quistis relaxed slightly.  The guilty fear that had been her body's first
    
     natural reaction ignited into anger. "Do you ever think about anything?
    
     Really think?"
    
    "You're the one that knows them. Don't blame this on me"
    
    "I thought they'd stay in town." Quistis wondered why she'd ever
    
    consented to coffee. It was just too tempting, sometimes, to forget.
    
     To pretend that they were both normal, when nothing could have
    
     been further from the truth. It meant she didn't have to think about
    
     the consequences of what they were doing. 
    
    "Shit.  We have to hide." Seifer lowered the paper. 
    
    From the coffee shop, the two girls were clearly visible.  They were
    
     both walking round the bay, no more than twenty metres away 
    
    along the boardwalk. It wouldn't have been so bad if they had been
    
     near Quistis's hotel which was firmly situated in the old and 
    
    picturesque part of town. The streets there were a rabbit warren.  
    
    Here in the newer shopping centre, the boardwalk was faced by one
    
     long line of souvenir shops looking out to the sea.    
    
    Quistis was sure they'd both be able to escape somehow, it was a 
    
    just a question of _where_ and _how_ _fast_. She glanced round quickly and
    
     pointed, keeping her movements small so as not to attract attention.
    
    "What about there?"
    
    There was a small shop next door to the coffee house. It had a curtain 
    
    for a door, and a deep, shady awning patterned in red and white stripes.
    
     Over the awning was a large and brilliantly painted sign that read 
    
    'Madame Esmeralda, Fortune Teller' If Quistis squinted, she could see
    
     that the much smaller brass licence plate underneath it read 'Tracy Danielewsky'.
    
    They entered the shop, at speed and with caution.  Quistis felt oddly
    
     angry, though she couldn't fathom why. It probably had something
    
     to do with twenty years of SeeD conditioning shattering under her
    
     melting running shoes.
    
    Inside, the shop was even smaller than it appeared from the street.
    
     This was probably because every available surface was covered 
    
    with a thick layer of tapestries, hangings, and small strings of cheap
    
     fake temple bells.  Seifer reached out and flicked one with a dirty
    
     fingernail.  It went _click_. 
    
    Quistis looked round at the bowls of pot-pourri, the incense holders,
    
     the small crystal unicorns.  She was unimpressed.  If the proprietor's
    
     ability in fortune telling equalled her ability to collect useless junk they 
    
    were both in for the most accurate piece of prophecy since Nostradamus, 
    
    though she sincerely doubted this was going to be the case.
    
    Seifer swore. His hair brushed the ceiling and came away veiled in 
    
    cobwebs.
    
    "Who pays for this shit?" His gesture took in the faded crystal ball
    
     and palmistry charts on the wall, the purple hangings printed with stars,
    
     and the strings of bells
    
    "People who want to know what the future holds." 
    
    Quistis' voice was heavy with irony.  She didn't have a problem with paying,
    
     because Hyne knew the SeeD salary for her rank was more 
    
    than adequate for someone with absolutely no social life, but the fortune 
    
    telling stuff got on her nerves.  They'd had enough trouble with prophecies and 
    
    magic way back in the Sorceress Wars. 
    
    Seifer shrugged. "Who cares? It's going to drop crap on you anyway." 
    
     There was a noise from behind one of the tapestries. "Who's there?"
    
    "Customers." 
    
    A thin woman came bustling out from behind a door that must have
    
     been concealed under one of the hangings. She gave them both a tired bright
    
     smile and sat down at the table.
    
    Quistis gave her the interested gaze of a scientist conducting an 
    
    experiment.  
    
    The fortune teller had a face like a piece of leather that had been
    
    left in the sun for too long.  She looked about forty years old and 
    
    quite tired but what she didn't look was the least bit Romany. 
    
    The word Quistis would have used to describe her was 'faded.' 
    
    Possibly 'poor.' Apparently fortune telling didn't earn that much
    
     money even in a little holiday town like Hana. 
    
    The general effect was of someone who was trying too hard and
    
     had picked up most of her accessories from the mall bargain bin
    
     while following a kid's Notre Dame storybook. She was dressed
    
     in a shawl over multilayered skirts with a headscarf topping off the
    
     whole ensemble, but the shawl had holes in, the skirts were clashingly bright and 
    
    several of the coins had fallen off the scarf, leaving small
    
     circular darker spots.   She wore so many bangles that it was a miracle
    
     her arms hadn't fallen off and several knuckleduster rings.
    
    She smiled, revealing a gold tooth and a bad case of decay and spoke in
    
     a husky smoker's voice.
    
    "Would you like your fortunes telling? A séance? Madam Esmerelda
    
     Speaks With The Dead Tuesday mornings and Fridays by arrangement."
    
    "Fortunes?" Seifer looked sceptical, and gave Quistis a tiny nudge 
    
    with his elbow.
    
    She edged the beaded curtain back with one long bare leg and shot a 
    
    fast glance out into the square.  
    
    Rinoa and Selphie were still standing looking at the stores. They'd 
    
    moved on to one of the seaside carts, resting in the shade of its brightly
    
     gaudy awning. Selphie held a bunch of pink plastic flip flops up and 
    
    started haggling with the vendor. 
    
    From the looks of it they weren't going to be moving on any time 
    
    soon.  And they'd probably think she was inexcusably rude when she 
    
    did meet them.
    
    Hyne.
    
    She gave Seifer a tiny shake of her head.
    
    Seifer sighed. "Yeah, go on.  Hit me."
    
    "Madame Esmerelda is fluent in all forms of fortune telling." She 
    
    pointed to a peeling sign above her head which listed several foreign
    
    and bewilderingly long names. "Crystallomancy, Bodachomancy, 
    
    Tarocchi, Technomancy, Oneiromancy or Palmistry?  Take your pick. "
    
    "In proper language?"
    
    "Crystal ball or cards or palm reading. They're the most popular ones.…."
    
    Quistis leaned forwards and said "Cards." She didn't hold much with fortune
    
     telling, preferring to divine the future by the art of chronomancy
    
     – in other words, telling the future by waiting to see what happened. 
    
    But if they really _had_ to waste money on a fortune telling then it 
    
    couldn't hurt to use something familiar to do it with.  Quistis was a 
    
    card sharp extraordinaire, though she doubted whether Seifer knew 
    
    about her Triple Triad abilities.  Or even cared. 
    
    The woman shrugged, unwrapped a greasy pack of cards from a length 
    
    of dark red, faded fabric and began to shuffle them. Her bangles 
    
    clattered like a brass band. "You can have the ten gil fortune or the 
    
    five gil fortune."
    
    Seifer didn't even have to think about it. "Five.  How long is this 
    
    going to take?"
    
    "You can't hurry fate." The fortuneteller shrugged and handed Seifer
    
     the pack of cards. "Shuffle them" 
    
    Seifer scowled and gave the cards a few casual flicks, passing them
    
     onto Quistis at the gypsy's gesture. A second gesture followed it, thumb
    
     and two fingers rubbing together. "Pay _before_ I tell your fortune."
    
    Seifer glared at her, recognising a fellow con artist. "What if I don't
    
     like what you tell me?"
    
    She gave an eloquent shrug.  "Can't change fate. The cards tell you
    
     what you need to know, not what you want to hear."
    
    "Joy" He gave her the glare of a person not expecting any fortune 
    
    other than Bad. 
    
    Quistis flicked Madam Esmerelda a five gil note, which disappeared
    
     somewhere into the woman's trailing skirts. She professionally 
    
    shuffled the cards, turning them over in her hands. They weren't 
    
    that bigger than Triple Triad cards, with a design of interlocking 
    
    suns and moons on the obverse. They didn't feel particularly fortunate.
    
     Just cards. Worn-out cards at that.   
    
    The gypsy scooted back and hit the button on a tape player. Slightly 
    
    mournful, haunting music started to fill the air. 
    
    Quistis rolled her eyes at Seifer, who flicked the curtain aside to 
    
    stare at the street and shook his head. He mouthed 'still there.' quietly. 
    
    The woman gave them both a glare as if to say that they weren't
    
    being impressed enough and lit a stick of incense with a theatrical
    
     flick of her wrist. The fumes filled the already stuffy tent with 
    
    smoke and made Quistis' head ache instantly. She slapped the cards
    
     back down onto the scarf.
    
    Madam Esmerelda rolled back her sleeves and fanned the deck 
    
    along the table. "Pick twelve." 
    
    Quistis sighed, surreptitiously trying to blow the scent away from her mouth,
    
     and flicked a few cards out from the pack. After six the 
    
    fortuneteller held a hand over the cards and gestured at Seifer. "Now you."
    
    Seifer selected half a dozen cards from the pack in a manner which suggested
    
     he had had 'I Am A Sceptic' tattooed onto his forehead
    
     at birth. 
    
    The gypsy held out her hands for them, gathered them all into a pack
    
     and shuffled them, laying them onto the table in three groups of four
    
     and gesturing with a ring-bedecked and hennaed finger. "This is past"
    
    The first set. 
    
    "Is present." pointing at the second 
    
    "Is future" indicating the third.
    
    "_Is bollocks_." hissed Seifer in Quistis' ear.
    
     The fortuneteller's voice seemed to have picked up a heavy foreign
    
     accent within the last three minutes. It slurred across the room and
    
     blended with the incense, as heavy as treacle.
    
    "Pick a card, any card." Seifer muttered. 
    
    The gypsy gave him a nasty look. "Fate cannot be hurried. I will now
    
     make a past reading. I must warn you that you must have faith in the
    
     cards. If you do not truly accept the wisdom of the cards disaster will follow.
    
     Disaster." 
    
    The last words were edged and sounded more like a schoolteacher than
    
     any kind of gypsy.
    
    Seifer gave her the blankeyed expression of a man with so many skeletons in
    
     his closet there was barely room for his clothes. Quistis shrugged.
    
    The gypsy turned over the first card.
    
    It was Death.   No mistake about that. A skeleton in black armour,
    
    and riding a pale horse. At the feet of the horse a variety of people 
    
    crouched. A small child offered flowers to the grinning skull which, 
    
    Quistis felt, might not be the wisest move ever made.
    
    Seifer looked unimpressed. "So this is present, right?"
    
    "Past. But it does not mean death! It means..chaaange." The last 
    
    word was over-emphasised and dramatic.
    
    He looked unimpressed. "Right. Past, okay. Change."
    
    The woman turned over the other three cards in the first set and 
    
    then they all sat and stared at them for a while.
    
    The first card had been Death. It was followed by two other identical
    
     cards: cheap pasteboard, nothing like Triple Triad, Quistis noted. 
    
    Three deaths. The card that followed them was different. This one
    
     also featured a man on a warhorse, but this time the steed was white.
    
     The pair of them charged towards the edge of the card, sword 
    
    upraised, with an expression that suggested that at the very least
    
     he'd left the gas burning when he was out. It read: The Knight Of
    
     Swords.
    
    The gypsy shrugged. "This is puzzling. The atmosphere of scepticism
    
     may be affecting my Tarot." She shot Seifer a hard look, which glanced
    
    off him like water from a duck's back. Her accent had faded again.
    
    Quistis personally disagreed. If anything, the atmosphere of scepticism in the
    
     room had diminished markedly since the cards had been revealed.    
    
    Because it made sense, if you thought about Seifer. 
    
    Three deaths.
    
    First, the thing with Deling.
    
    Second, Time Compression
    
    Third, Trabia.
    
    He was sitting very still on the edge of his chair. "Can't you do it
    
     again?"
    
    "Honey, for five gil the cards only get read once. And that's hardly
    
     worth my time."  
    
    She turned the second lot of cards over and shrugged, making her
    
     bangles jingle in a non-musical melody. 
    
    Both their eyes followed her hands.
    
    Another Knight Of Swords. A card called Justice, with a picture of a
    
     woman sitting in a throne. She held a bared sword and a pair of scales.
    
     Two of swords. Eight of wands. "I must have got two packs mixed."
    
    "What does it mean?"
    
    The gypsy shrugged and a coin fell off her headband. "Knight of 
    
    Swords.  Not a good card. It represents a warning to watch your back
    
     or else a  person.  Does it remind you of anyone?"
    
    Quistis shook her head and lied through her teeth.. "Of course not. 
    
    But what exactly does it _mean_?" 
    
    Madame Esmerelda pulled a book off her shelf and flicked through it.
    
     "Not common." Her accent fell away as she quoted. "The card 
    
    represents Opposition. It's Bad News"
    
    Quistis heard the capital letters drop neatly into place like a guillotine
    
     blade and sighed as the gypsy continued.  "Really, it means that you
    
     should be cautious in your dealings, but you'll know whatever it is
    
     when it happens, as" she spread her hands and flicked the card back
    
     into the pack ." it is not likely to be subtle."
    
    "Really?"
    
    "More …violent, I'd say. A surprise."
    
    . Quistis was thankful that the picture on the card looked entirely
    
     unlike Seifer.
    
    The gypsy coughed and waved one beringed and tasseled hand in
    
     front of her nose. "I shouldn't worry, dear, all the cards must be
    
     taken in harmony with each other. Now let me take you through 
    
    your other cards. Justice, that's a good one.  It represents victory
    
     for the right. That which should be, "she gave a few mystic passes
    
     over the deck, "will be, and nothing will change it. Two of swords: 
    
    a favourable card, of friendship and alliance. Eight of wands: this is
    
     the time to take action, so make haste."
    
    Quistis unconsciously began to hum 'There may be trouble ahead'
    
     and then deliberately stopped herself. "What about the future?"
    
    "All in good time." Madam Esmerelda turned the music up and 
    
    stubbed the incense out in an ashtray. "This means, my dears, that your 
    
    present is in flux"
    
    "Pardon?"
    
    "Change. Friendship. Changing into, dare I say, romantic luurve."
    
    Quistis and Seifer shot each other a look. Seifer rolled his eyes and said 
    
    "Isn't this the bit where you say one of us is going to cross over water and
    
     meet a romantic dark stranger? Preferably me, for choice."
    
    Quistis kicked him under the table. 
    
    The gypsy smiled, skin pouching into little pockets under her eyes. "Not 
    
    necessarily. Anyway, the future." She winked at Quistis." Which is the 
    
    bit everyone is bothered about."
    
    "Not everyone"
    
    "Most people." The gypsy seemed more relaxed now that they were
    
    acting suitably impressed. Her accent had returned in spades and she 
    
    made an ostentatious hand waving ritual over the third set of cards as 
    
    she turned them over one by one, choking both her hapless spectators 
    
    in a cloud of sweat and patchouli.
    
    The first card showed a boy holding a cup. "Page of Cups. This means
    
     a message, or someone who will bear an important piece of news. A 
    
    young boy, usually." 
    
    " This is such a damn ripoff. Everyone gets mail." Seifer snapped. 
    
    Quistis guessed that his manner was just a bluff to cover the fact that 
    
    he'd been sincerely freaked out by the earlier cards. 
    
    She was probably right, probably knew him better than most, by now.  
    
    Scary thought.
    
    Quistis's lips moved, despite herself. Messengers.. 
    
    _Vividarium__ interviligium viator, in the garden sleeps the messenger_.
    
    In _Garden_ sleeps the messenger, incompletely translated from pig 
    
    Latin. Was the fortune something to do with that? Even though 
    
    everything had happened in the past? Had the woman somehow 
    
    recognised them?
    
    _It's not possible._
    
    She scolded herself for starting to believe that this was all real and 
    
    glanced round at the reassuringly shabby seaside hut.  
    
    Nothing more than an old woman, practised at fakery and trying to 
    
    make some money.
    
    The fortuneteller turned up another card: this one painted to show a 
    
    hand holding two crossed batons. "Two of wands. Something 
    
    unexpected will happen, so this just cross-references the Page.  You
    
     didn't plan for your news and it will catch you by surprise when you
    
     least expect it. It probably won't be good."
    
    Seifer glanced out at the square and then let the curtain fall back 
    
    across the door with a sigh. "If I believed in this stuff I'd be scared."
    
    Madame Esmerelda shook one finger gently at Seifer, who glared
    
     at it like he was a snake and it was a hamster. "Have faith."
    
    "In what?"
    
    "Faith, in general, is never a bad thing."
    
    "In myself?"
    
    The woman turned over a third card. "That's as may be. Eight of 
    
    coins: you know where you're going now and how to get there, 
    
    whether you like it or not. And last but not least, the eight of swords.
    
     Unexpected events may occur. You may receive bad news; beware 
    
    of old enemies and false friends."
    
    "Don't have any."
    
    Quistis muttered "Enemies or friends?"
    
    The gypsy woman spread her hands out over the cards and bundled
    
     them back up into a scarf.  She shrugged with another clashing 
    
    jingle of jewellery and said "That's the last one, I'd print you out a 
    
    copy of the results, but the Meter of Magic isn't working today." 
    
    "That's okay." Quistis said politely. She suddenly had an idea and 
    
    elbowed Seifer in the side, mouthing at him to check the seafront again.    
    
    "Let me give you a summary anyway." the woman persisted. "I can write
    
     it down if you'd like." She pulled a purple pad decorated with unicorns
    
     and glitter towards her. 
    
    "It's really fine. Actually, I just remembered I really need to be 
    
    somewhere else."
    
    Seifer twitched the curtain aside and mouthed '_Still there'_. 
    
    Quistis chopped one hand across at him. "My uh, boyfriend can pick
    
     up the summary, He'll stay a bit, and I'll just go to the shops."
    
    She saw comprehension starting to dawn in Seifer's face. He raised
    
     one hand to scratch at his scar and then coughed into the palm. 
    
    "Right."  
    
    "Stay. You might even learn something." _Though I do doubt it.__  After_
    
    _ all, I taught him for three years and he never learned a thing._ 
    
    _Coincidentally, in the last week he's learned several things, though_
    
    _ the teaching method has been rather different_.
    
    "All the cards should be taken in harmony? What a load of crap. 
    
    More like 'it's shit, but I keep your money, lady."
    
    Madam Esmerelda looked vaguely affronted at the comment, but must
    
     have decided to ignore it. She reached behind her to stow the cards
    
     away in a small cedar chest and gave them both a bright fake smile.
    
    Quistis kicked him, hard. "I'm sure it'll be informative. I'll meet you
    
     later, usual place. At yours." She rose from her chair. "Have fun."
    
    "Fine." Seifer settled back in his seat, watching Quistis's ass as she
    
     disappeared through the curtains. He watched as she moved over to
    
     the stall, feigning surprise at the meeting, and then just as quickly
    
     ushered the girls away, in the opposite direction, he noticed, to his flat.
    
    "Like I said…."
    
    "Save it. I've got things to do." _Buy more cigarettes, for a start._
    
    The gypsy looked slightly hurt.  "May the forces of good spirits be
    
     with you on your…."
    
    Seifer was already moving towards the door. "Save it for the tourists."
    
    The curtain fell across her startled face behind him.
    
    He stepped out onto the boardwalk and took a long, deep breath,
    
     clearing his lungs of cheap incense and patchouli oil. There was a
    
     slight breeze, for once, making the day almost cool after the muggy
    
     scented heat of the shop. Seifer leant on the boardwalk railing and 
    
    glanced round. 
    
    In the distance, there was a group of girls who he guessed must be 
    
    Selphie, Quistis and Rinoa. At least they were kind of the right height
    
     and were dressed in the same clothes he'd seen the two SeeDs wear
    
     earlier in the morning.
    
    He watched them walk down the pier with an unreadable expression, 
    
    scowled, kicked a pebble out into the sea and watched its flight with 
    
    shadowed eyes until it broke the surface of the waves with a soft plop
    
     and disappeared from view. 
    
    Seifer turned, shrugged, and headed in the direction of the nearest off-licence,
    
     fishing a few tarnished coins from his pockets in amongst all
    
    the lint and sugar packets. He fed them into a vending machine and collected
    
     a packet of Marlboros.
    
    Seifer lit one and watched the three woman fade into the distance with narrow
    
     eyes, sucking on a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. 
    
    When they disappeared he felt in the coin return slot for change, pocketed a
    
     five-gil piece and headed home at a sauntering walk.
    
    _Some time later, back in the hotel room…_
    
    "What's going on?"
    
    Rinoa tucked her hair behind her ears. "I have a message from Squall." 
    
    She reached into one pocket of her blue dress, pulled out a sheet of paper
    
     and put it on the table.  It was folded elaborately into an origami swan.
    
    Selphie and Quistis stared at it.
    
    "I got bored on the train." she said defensively.
    
    Quistis picked the tiny paper bird up by its neck and unfolded it carefully, 
    
    smoothing the creases out. "I can tell."
    
    "Cute, though." Selphie said
    
    "I'll teach you sometime." Rinoa's hand stole down to stroke Angelo's 
    
    nose. "I learned when I was little. It's not hard, if you've got patience."
    
    Quistis said "Better not teach Selphie then."
    
    "I'm patient."
    
    "Yes, only you have to add 'im' to that sentence."
    
    "I could. If I wanted to." Selphie said indignantly.
    
    Quistis finished unfolding the swan. She held the paper up in front of her.
    
    If the decoration had been Rinoa's idea, the letter was all Squall. It was
    
    printed carefully on official Balamb Garden notepaper, thick, slightly 
    
    corrugated cream card, the kind they used for special missions and sent 
    
    to people they wanted to impress.
    
    _'To: SeeD Operative level 29, Quistis Trepe._
    
    _As you no doubt know, __Balamb__Garden__ was the subject of hostile action_
    
    _ approximately 48 hours ago. This attack was carried out by an _
    
    _organisation__ named the Childrens Liberation Front( CLA).  According_
    
    _ to our reports they wish to negotiate a cessation of hostilities with the_
    
    _ Gardens. We have arranged a meeting at 1200 hours on the 12th of June_
    
    _ at on __Cape Wrath__, approximately nine miles north of your current _
    
    _position__. Owing to the unusual nature of the request you will be in _
    
    _constant__ radio contact throughout and we expect the talks to be _
    
    _concluded__ satisfactorily within 48 hours._
    
    _ We believe these people, while misguided, to be no real threat so _
    
    _please__ treat this mission as Special Diplomatic Grade B.  Please find_
    
    _ enclosed formal uniform, map, and briefing details regarding this group._
    
    _After the mission please transmit any relevant data to Balamb ASAP. _
    
    _After this has been evaluated you can then return to Hana where you_
    
    _ will continue your holiday as scheduled.  _
    
    _Please ask SeeD Tilmitt or Ms Heartilly if you have any questions._
    
    _Squall.'___
    
    That was it. No 'sorry for cutting your holiday short', no 'if you'd like,
    
     we have a mission I thought you'd be interested in'. Just a curt order.  
    
    Quistis turned back to the paper.
    
    She knew she should be ecstatic at the chance to return to work. Instead
    
     she felt vaguely insulted, as if Squall had ordered her to do something totally
    
     unreasonable, rather than cut short a vacation she'd been 
    
    vociferously resisting for weeks.
    
    This slightly worried her.
    
    Hey guys:
    
    First off, thanks to the recent ff.net fuckups review notices have been….different,
    
     to say the least.  Until Tuesday of the first week after I posted I was moody 
    
    'cause I only had two reviews.  Then I got over one hundred copies of the same
    
     three reviews which kind of alerted me that something might be wrong with the good
    
     old pit of voles, so I wandered 
    
    over and, uh, the ego was very pleasantly massaged.
    
    Thanks, all of you.  It was such a nice surprise.
    
    Anyway:
    
    Altol: Ta. I'm assuming you mean Loki as in the whole 'trickster' thing.
    
     But I just keep getting confused with Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman' Loki, who's basically 
    
    a nasty amoral bastard who puts a baby in a fire to burn away his humanity and lies
    
     his way out of eternal torment by kidnapping
    
     a Japanese deity and tying him down underneath a giant snake. 
    
    Actually, now you mention it….  
    
    Amber Tinted: Yeah. I've never been out with a dead guy but I imagine
    
     it might have its problems ( resists opportunity to make tasteless joke)
    
    Arashi: Teen Goth Squall is definitely a concept worth expanding on.
    
     He'd hardly have to do anything, anyway. Just dye his hair and maybe
    
     buy some black belts. 
    
    Breaker-one: Yeah.  Rinoa gets on my nerves too. But, you know, the
    
     whole theme of the damn game is Squall finding True Love, and while playing, 
    
    Squall definitely grew on me. So then I had to make Rinoa
    
     kind of……less annoying. . 
    
    Crystalline Dragon: I update every fortnight, on Friday nights GMT, 
    
    you extremely polite person. Muchas gracias.
    
    DBX Fanfiction Queen: Why yes, he is dead.  Several times in fact. He is
    
     an ex-Seifer……. I did get both btw, and many thanks for pointing out the
    
     continuity error. D'oh!
    
    Ghost140: Who am I? Why am I here…forget the questions, someone 
    
    gimme another beer. Virtual cookie for the song quote.
    
    Kjata: Thanks. I knew I had to put it in when my beta-sister kept bugging me
    
     with 'so…written any more of that wardrobe bit yet?'
    
    Nynaeve77: Read your fic, liked it, must check out fictionpress more. 
    
    Also, you've got some very very good favourite fics.
    
    Seatbelts: hey guys. I'm really depressingly unoriginal.  The dreams were just
    
     weird drabbles that I had to fit it in somewhere. 
    
    Seventhe: thanks a lot. Funnily enough, the reason I started that was 
    
    cause the mental image was so funny. Plus I thought I needed more 
    
    relationshippy fluff stuff. 
    
    Sheep: thanks. Cool name, btw.
    
    Sickness In Salvation: Well. You deserve a whole damn chapter to 
    
    yourself. Very much appreciated. Suffice it to say that you were 
    
    dead right about all of the quotes and refs, including Waiting For
    
     Magic and yes, the list of a hundred things you learned from the 
    
    movies (which I have saved on my computer) plus there's several
    
     hundred more you probably didn't get.  Some of which are probably
    
     intelligible only to me or my twin sister, cause I'm a geek culture ho. 
    
    Sulou: I got both of your reviews, thanks very very much. Really
    
     appreciate it. See, the simultaneous 'embarrass/piss off' thing is 
    
    something he'd be extremely good at.
    
    Superviolinist: Yeah, I know things have kind of been a bit heavy lately,
    
     so there'll be a couple more chapters of relatively light fluff and
    
     foreshadowing before I get my teeth back into the blood and sex and
    
     stitches that people know and …know, I guess..     
    
    The fortunetelling methods: Crystallomancy, Tarocchi, and Palmistry
    
     are pretty self-explanatory (crystal gazing, tarot and palm reading respectively.)
    
    Bodachomancy is divination through sacrificing trolls to observe their entrails
    
    Oneiromancy is telling the future through dreams. (tough luck, Seifer)
    
    Technomancy is the name of a sadly defunct fanfiction site which 
    
    featured the best fic I have ever read. And I read quite a lot of fic.
    
    Kate( even a glamorous bitch can be in need)


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Shades Of Grey

Chapter Thirteen: Things You Tell Yourself.

It does not bother me to say this isn't love

Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love

And I guess I'm going to have to live without it.

But I'm sure there's something in a shade of grey or something in between

And I can always change my name, if that's what you mean.

My friends assure me it's all or nothing

But I am not worried

I am not overly concerned

You try to tell yourself the things you tell yourself to make yourself forget

I am not worried

"But if it's love" she says

"Then we're going to have to think about the consequences."

Counting Crows: 'Anna Begins'

"I almost forgot!"

Quistis glanced up, realising she had been staring into space for the last five minutes.

She said "What?" half-irritably and wondered if any of the other SeeDs had caught her loss of attention

Apparently not.  

Selphie walked over to the door and rooted around in a very large canvas bag that, up until now, Quistis had somehow failed to notice.  She pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and a thick folder bound in blue plastic, and placed them both on the table in front of Quistis, pushing them towards her with a little smile.

"Don't take it the wrong way. Quisty." Rinoa said anxiously.

Quistis swallowed, and realised that Rinoa must have assumed her expression of ferocious thought was somehow directed at her. She shook her head, and sighed as her hair came loose from its usual lacquered bun. 

_Squall deserves criticism, after a message like that.  I know he's got the emotional depth of an ice cube, but why does he have to assume everyone else's built the same way?_

She found this slightly ironic, seeing that she usually admired Squall's rather terse and clipped way of issuing orders. Quistis found it perfectly logical that a commander had to keep the necessary distance from his subordinates, especially one as young as Squall. She'd always considered his detachment was to be admired, even emulated, but at times like these it grated. 

_And the fact that my ex-student is now in charge of my life doesn't bother me at all…_

She replied "It's all right." 

Rinoa beamed. 

Selphie fussed over Angelo for a moment, hooked her chair towards her with one sandaled foot and sat down at the table facing the wrong way round. She folded her arms on the chairback and gestured at the parcel.

"Go on! Open it." 

Quistis looked doubtfully at the brown paper covering.  She poked it cautiously and then, as the parcel refused to move or attack pulled it closer, squeezing the bundle delicately.  It was soft, and gave slightly under her hands.

"It's just like Christmas!" Selphie said happily.

Quistis gave her a humouring look and neatly ripped the Sellotape from one end of the parcel.

Inside was a neatly pressed SeeD uniform, clean and folded, ornamental braid gleaming. It still smelt of the cheap industrial – strength washing soda Garden used.  The file turned out to contain a thick stack of press cuttings and newspaper reports on the organisation known as the CLA, a map with a suggested route carefully marked in red, and an envelope containing train tickets. Topping this off was a piece of paper with a time on it, and a place. As a mission brief, it was adequate, though Quistis would have preferred tearful grovelling apologies. 

_An_ apology, anyway.

She leafed carefully through the laminated sheets with the tip of one manicured nail, feeling faintly nervous for reasons she didn't even want to admit to herself. Her fingerprints left damp marks on each page as she turned it.

"Any questions?" Selphie said hopefully.

"I think it's all here…what did Squall say to you?" Quistis closed the folder, tracing the SeeD logo embossed on its cover absently.

Selphie shrugged. "He just told me to give you this when we met you. I asked if I could come.  The cowboy's been away and it's been so boring since you left."

"Right." Quistis doubted that anybody would miss her unless the photocopier broke down, but she was grateful to Selphie for making the effort. "Rinoa, don't they need you back there? The PR?"

Rinoa blushed.  "I'm inexperienced. Cid's flown back. He and Squall are going to handle this personally." She slid one hand down to stroke Angelo's nose, as if in reassurance.  The dog gave her mistress a careful lick. 

"It's not that you're not good, it's just he doesn't want to give you too much trouble too soon." Selphie reached across the table and patted Rinoa's shoulder. "Cid knows the other Gardens.  We need their help in this. They decided to send someone from Balamb cause we're nearest, is all."

"Plus, we're the best." Rinoa said hotly. 

_She's obviously getting into her new job_.

Selphie waved one hand carelessly. "That, too."

"So when do they need you back?" Quistis asked.  

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy company, but the knowledge of Seifer's presence was burning like a brand in the back of her mind.  She'd never kept information from Garden knowingly in her life, and it felt …_wrong_.  Quistis didn't think she'd ever get used to it, which was probably a good thing from Garden's point of view. 

It was hard to think of anything else. Hard, even, to keep her mind on the conversation.  And at the end of the day, she was worried that if they did stay, she'd find herself shouting out _'I've been screwing Seifer Almasy_!' in her sleep and wake to find Selphie standing over her in her pyjamas, taking notes. 

Selphie twirled her hair in her fingers, gave a horrible wink and said " I told you, she can't wait to get rid of us."

"He thought you'd be pleased." Rinoa said plaintively.

"Really?" 

"I think the exact words were' she'll meet you at the door and be dying to get back to work, if I know Quistis.' I guess he might not know you as well as he thought."

_That's admirably astute, for Rinoa_.. 

"I could go and tell him to give it to someone else, if you'd like."

"No." Quistis said automatically, reconsidered, and then reconsidered again. Maybe the mission was a Good Thing. Maybe she was getting seduced into doing the wrong thing.  Maybe Seifer was a bad influence.

_Since when has that ever been a surprise?_

"I think he assigned you specially"

"Why?"

Rinoa ticked reasons off on her fingers.  "One, this group's protesting against child exploitation, right? So he wanted to send one of us. You, I mean. Edea's children. And you're pretty close. Secondly, he figured you'd be tearing your hair out anyway.  Thirdly, I think Squall wanted someone he could trust, because he can't be here himself."  

"Zell'd be a diplomatic disaster" Quistis said thoughtfully.

"And Irvine's still away." Selphie chimed in.

Quistis rubbed her eyes. "Yes. I heard.  How's that going?"

"Fine. Last I heard." Selphie said. "They're going crazy about some silly paperwork back home.  He's got things overdue by months. Anyway, Squall could have sent _moi__.._"  She jerked a thumb at herself…." but then …"

"He thought you'd enjoy a job." Rinoa began to leaf through the folder.

"Everyone knows you're so diplomatic."

Rinoa didn't look up from her reading. "And everybody knows you never lose your head."

_Everybody except me, of course…_

"Plus, he reckons the leader's a man…." Selphie smirked

Quistis sighed. "That's sexist."

"It helps, though." 

 "Is that why the dress?" Quistis flicked a finger at Selphie's ultra-short yellow outfit.

The Trabian SeeD's smile turned flinty. "I like being underestimated."  She smoothed her tiny skirt. "Plus, it's yellow!  Everybody loves yellow, right?"

"It's very ..bright." Quistis said diplomatically.

Selphie beamed. "Anyway, have a read. We'll be leaving soon and then you can get back to whatever we interrupted." She gave a wink and nudged Quistis with an elbow. "Know what I mean?"   

Quistis waved one hand in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Really, nothing."

Selphie shook her head violently. "I don't mean _that_. What I really mean is.."

"Selphie, please."

"…what has this man whom you have only known for two weeks got that hundreds of military cadets who have been trying to get into your pants for positively _years_ haven't? I'm _dying_ to know."

"Can we meet him?" Rinoa smiled and put aside the folder.

Quistis groaned. "Believe me, that is not a good idea."

"You seemed to be away an awful long time when we were shopping." Selphie tore a piece from the brown paper left discarded on the table top, creasing it into intricate folds that rivalled Rinoa's swan. 

"I felt like a run." Quistis fought to keep her face poker-straight.

"You look like you've been getting a daily workout." Selphie winked while her hands folded busily.  She gave her contraption one final crease, admired it for one second and then looked up at Quistis with a mischievous dark-eyed grin.  

Quistis raised one eyebrow. "This isn't a military interrogation.  I have the right to remain silent, remember?"

Selphie gave her an angelic smile and launched the paper aeroplane off the table. It floated a couple of metres above the floor. Angelo wrenched herself from Rinoa's side and ran to stand under it, watching intently. The breeze carried the plane down to just above the dog's nose before a rising current caught it and flicked it up again. Angelo's jaws closed on empty air and she gave a _wuff_ of frustration.

"Oh, I forgot." Selphie waved one hand. "Your computer. I unlocked it earlier on, and Squall said to say that he's sent you some more info through the network, just in case you have time to look at it before you leave. Maybe you could take it on the train."

There was a happy bark from behind her as Angelo at last captured the airplane and returned to the table with her tail waving happily. She presented the soggy paper to Rinoa, who took it gingerly, and then lay down again at her mistress's side with another soft _wuff_ of satisfaction at a job well done. 

Quistis tried her best to look pleased, her gaze straying towards her computer.

Selphie frowned. "Cid told me to tell you to..oh, just take care, is all." She started to fold a second paper aeroplane.

"Cid's at Garden?"

"Weren't you listening? I told you already. My, it really does look like you've got your mind on higher things. Or rather, lower."

Quistis lowered her glasses and gave Selphie a flat level stare.

The Trabian SeeD gave her an unrepentant smile and then capitulated. "He doesn't want to be away from Edea for too long, but he's staying for the moment. Hopefully, once you get your report in, we'll all have sorted this silly thing out and he'll be able to go back to Matron." Her hands stilled

"How's Edea?" Quistis asked softly. 

Selphie turned her chair round and sat down on it the approved way, leaving her origami half-finished.  "Uh, not good."

"She's taken a room in the lighthouse and sits there for hours at a time." Rinoa added.

"Just staring out to sea."

"It can't be healthy."

Quistis said thoughtfully "She was really upset still, when I saw her last."

"She's no better." 

"I saw her a couple of weeks ago. I took Angelo. And I knitted her some socks." Rinoa said. 

Quistis wondered if her hearing was all right. "Rinoa, the orphanage is in Centra. She doesn't _need_ socks. It's hot there."

"I thought they were a nice handmade gift. To show her we cared. I did them in the SeeD colours and everything."

Quistis tried unsuccessfully to imagine socks of Rinoa's own make and then gave up.  The girl was treacherously fond of handicrafts. Sometimes they turned out well, other times not. Quistis still owned a blue bead necklace from Rinoa's jewellery making phase that she wore for the SeeD formal balls. All of the orphanage gang had been given one or other of Rinoa's experiments at some time. They usually came in useful as doorstops, targets or in extreme cases, firewood. 

Squall refused categorically to have anything to do with her gifts. Quistis's opinion was that it was just another example of the man's obvious tactical brilliance.  After all, he'd managed to decline without hurting Rinoa's feelings, thought how Squall, Mr. 'Whatever' had managed that, she'd never know.

"I'm trying crochet next week."

"Rinoa, macramé is not the answer."

"I know. But I thought it'd help.  Just because I wasn't brought up by her doesn't mean I don't care, all right! " Rinoa's lower lip was beginning to tremble. Angelo gave a sharp staccato bark. "But Squall loves her and she must get so lonely….. "

"Maybe she should take in more kids." Selphie said thoughtfully.

Rinoa shook her head, perhaps remembering her last visit. "Not at the moment."

"I agree. Not perhaps, a good idea." Quistis said. 

Selphie returned to her model aeroplane, small calloused hands folding and tucking with precision.  "She's getting older."

Quistis nodded. She'd always wondered just how their Matron did it.  Maybe being a sorceress made you eternally youthful, or something.   

"We should all go visit her. When we get back.  We could all make her something." Rinoa said.

Selphie winced.

"Quisty could make her a cake."

Quistis groaned. "Have you seen my cooking skills?" Cookery was the one missing ability she wasn't afraid to admit to. You didn't get much of a chance to experiment living on packeted rations and canteen food for most of your life.

Rinoa pursued the topic like Angelo on a scent. "Selphie, you could…get her some flowers. Or paint a picture!"

Selphie finished her second plane and launched it at Angelo, who ignored it. "She's got a whole field of flowers.  There's always some out, thought it beats me how they manage to grow in Centra.  And I can't paint."

"Have you tried?" Rinoa's voice was cheerful. She always tried to motivate people.  Sometimes it even worked. 

Selphie looked thoughtful for a second and then smiled mischievously. "That's a thought. I could do nude sketches……Get Irvine to pose for me. He'd love that. He's such an exhibitionist." She looked inspired.

"Feel free. Just don't give Matron one of them." Quistis smiled. Selphie's enthusiasm was catching.

She pouted. "I'd get him to keep his hat on."

"Just make sure it's not on his head."

"I'm thinking tasteful, yet erotic. Kind of calendar pose. Maybe we could do a calendar.  Genuine serving soldiers." She picked up one of Quistis's highlighters from the table and started on some stick men sketches.  

Quistis sighed. "Selphie, we fight.  We don't sell pornography. We have a reputation." She glanced at Selphie's pictures, turned back to the folder and then looked again in mild surprise.  

"Maybe they'll be disarmed." Selphie made a suggestive gesture with the hand that wasn't holding the pen. "Come on, can't you see it. Pretty boys? Take Squall, for example…"

"He'd have a fit." Quistis said with certainty. She snagged the paper from Selphie and passed it to Rinoa.

Rinoa looked puzzled, flipped the paper upside down, squinted and then blushed violently. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her scarlet face with one hand, but the movement just drew attention to her obvious embarrassment. "Not all of us are like Irvine, you know."

"What sexy, talented, and good with a…"Selphie beamed. 

"I'm not listening." Rinoa stuck her fingers in her ears.

"Gun."  Selphie said indignantly. "What did you think I was going to say? Hyne, have _you_ got a smutty mind."

"Wasn't there something else?" Quistis asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track. Luckily enough, Selphie was easily distracted.

"Oh, yes." Selphie half-stood, reaching over the table, and took hold of Quistis' hand.

"Squall wanted to make sure you were all equipped. I know you left your junctions at home, so here goes. There's a map of all local draw points in the folder so you should be able to pick some more up before tomorrow. Transfer Junctions Shiva, Bahamut and Siren. And all associated magic, okay?"

Quistis didn't have time to protest before a light glowed faintly behind Selphie's eyes. It pulsed and dimmed again in the space of no more than a second, and then the energy of three GFs poured into her.  Shiva came without any hesitation at all, fitting snugly into the small niche she had carved out for herself in Quistis' mind like she belonged there. Siren junctioned almost as easily. Bahamut transferred reluctantly, as always. She'd never really bonded with the dragon-GF, even after they'd acquired him at the Deep Sea Research Centre. None of them had.

Selphie sat down with a grin. Her cool fingers left Quistis' wrist and broke the momentary connection between them. 

"Are you sure you can spare them?" Quistis said, just as soon as she could speak

"I wish I could give more. Anyway, Shiva's yours."

"I think so…" Quistis said, uncertainly.  She could almost feel the icy glaze of the blue lady settling once more beneath her skin. The concept of 'owning' a GF like it was some kind of pet had always felt vaguely alien to her.

"Siren's always useful. And you're by the beach and all. I thought it was appropriate."

Quistis sighed. The deep breath sent a sharp spike of magic-induced headache coursing through her skull. Only Selphie would think to organise Guardian forces by scenery, for Hyne's sake.

Rinoa smiled in approval and clapped her hands, making Angelo jump up in alarm

_Well, maybe there's one other person…_

Selphie lounged back in her chair, hugging one slender knee to her chest.  "She likes the sea." 

Quistis knew it was true. She could feel the pulsing keen of the GF's siren song in her blood, a pulsing rhythm of both music and magic. They were only two letters different. Once you listened to Siren, you couldn't hear anything else.

"And Bahamut?" 

"He fits with you better than most." Rinoa broke in.

"What, you mean he's not compatible with me, but he's awful with everyone else." Quistis said sarcastically.

"Squall tried it, but Bahamut and Diablos fight. I don't like him at all.  Nor does Quetzalcoatl, so that rules Zell out. Irvine's better than most, but he's not here." Selphie shrugged.  

Quistis rubbed her temples. Her head was beginning to ache from the sheer volume of magic Selphie had just unloaded into it. A rumbling growl seemed to reverberate through her bones. Bahamut, no doubt.

"What about you?" She turned to Rinoa.

"I'm not junctioned. Squall doesn't like us using them too much, you know that."

"So that's why he's joined at the hip to Ifrit?" Quistis commented sarcastically.  Now Squall was the last person she'd expect to be highly compatible with a fire GF, but then she had pretty much the same feeling about him and Rinoa, so she guessed it must all work out.  Somehow

Rinoa shrugged. Angelo barked and she reached down to stroke her dog's shaggy head. "Besides, I have Angelo."

"Uh, yeah." Quistis said.  _One badly trained dog against monsters that can drop boulders of ice on people?_

_This is never going to work._

Selphie glanced at her watch. "Anyway, let's wrap this up. We're going soon."

"That was quick."

"I know. We'll have to come visit later. You've got a radio, right? Squall wants you to be in radio contact as much as you can. He says the reception's bad, but what with them choosing the negotiating ground.."

Quistis sputtered. "They chose…"

"Ahh, now you see why they picked you to go." Selphie smirked.

"It's nothing like that." Rinoa said indignantly. "They want to give you a tour, make sure their intentions are honourable, that kind of thing. Plus, it sounds like you might need to do some pretty convincing talking. Squall wants to lay the ground for some kind of cease-fire.  We can go with all guns blazing if we need to, but he wants it kept quiet for now." 

"Right." Quistis said doubtfully.

"You've got forty-eight hours. Longer if you need it."

"Don't worry." Quistis privately thought that two days was much too long.  "What sort of thing does he want me to say?"

Selphie twirled a strand of her hair round her finger. "Well, duh. Just tell them what a load of crap their child exploitation theory is."

"Don't be too hard on them" Rinoa said, and then looked embarrassed.

"They're a threat." Quistis pointed out.

"They're rebels. We were rebels once."

"You didn't blow things up."

Rinoa smiled to take the sting out of her words. "No, we tried to kidnap the president of Galbadia, Quisty."

"Don't call me that."

"Just think about it, okay?"

"Don't be so naïve, Rinoa.  They tried to hurt Garden.  They attacked us. People could have been killed."

"Do you have a little grudge?"

Quistis was only half-joking when she said "No, I have a very big vendetta." 

"You should have diplomatic immunity. They won't dare try anything. Just take care." Selphie said, and air-kissed each side of Quistis' mouth. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her yellow dress and stepped back.

"You're leaving already?"

"Bummer, but yeah. We have to catch the train."

"We get to use the SeeD compartment. Plus free room service!" Rinoa said gleefully.

_They're going to regret that with Selphie_, Quistis thought, but said nothing.

"I just have to say goodbye to the receptionist first. She's been so helpful."

Quistis blinked, owl-like, behind her spectacles. "Could you repeat that?"

"The receptionist." Rinoa said, speaking slowly as if to an old or deaf person.  "She's.   Been. Very…."

"Okay, I get the message….but we're talking about the same person? About seventy? White hair? Mouth like she's just eaten a lemon?"

Selphie looked strangely at Quistis. "Well, she was a bit short at first, but Rinoa got talking to her. Turns out she breeds Alsatian dogs." 

"She was very interested to hear of Angelo's special skills." Rinoa said proudly, and whistled. "Sit, Angelo. Roll over! Play dead!"

The collie cross obediently obeyed her mistress.  Sprawled out over the carpet, she looked like a small ornamental fur rug.

Selphie clapped her hands. "Hey, come here, Angelo!"

The dog didn't move. Rinoa smiled and said "Good dog." One ear flicked at her mistress's praise, but Angelo stayed motionless. 

"Here, Angelo! Food!" Selphie fumbled in the pocket of her dress. The dog got up, ears pricked and tail wagging expectantly. She sat down neatly on the carpet next to Selphie and held out a paw. Selphie flicked a dog chew in the collie's general direction.  Angelo caught it neatly and swallowed the treat in one gulp. 

"We're working on that one." Rinoa said grumpily. "And she's just great at finding items1 Like that sock for instance. If she'd missed _that_, we'd never have known. You wouldn't have told us."

Quistis mentally groaned. _Not this again_. "I have my reasons."

"Tell us, Quisty!"

"They're _good_ reasons."

"He's got two heads?" Selphie said meditatively.

"No!"

"He's got two…."

Quistis changed the subject yet again, with all the subtlety of an express train.  To her surprise, it actually worked. "So, the receptionist. How did you ever even manage to get up here?" 

 "I gave her some old tips from my magazines." Rinoa said.

"It was easy. Once Rinoa told her all about dog-training, she was great."

"She even said we could bring Angelo up here."  Rinoa retrieved Selphie's second aeroplane from the floor and launched it across the room. "I don't think she approves of you much. I told her you were some kind of nun but she didn't believe me. Muttered something about you coming in at all hours."

"There was a simple misunderstanding. I lost my key and couldn't get in after curfew, that's all."

"Yeah." Selphie said in a tone of voice that indicated she didn't believe a word of her story. "She said we have to be out by twenty-one hundred hours. Don't worry, I said we'd have to go before that. She was really nice." 

Rinoa looked slightly puzzled. "And the maid asked if your cousin had tried not being homosexual."

Quistis fought to keep a blank expression on her face while Selphie shrugged expressively. "I knew you wouldn't know. We told her you hadn't got a cousin."

Quistis had enough presence of mind to reply. "Yes, she must have been mistaken.

Funny that."

"Anyway, time and train wait for no woman." Selphie said.  She looked at her watch again.

Rinoa giggled. "You're really looking forwards to the train."

"I love trains. You could be going anywhere…Dollet, Esthar, Zanarkand….."

Quistis frowned. She'd heard of Dollet and Esthar, but never the third country.

"'The golden road to Zanarkand.'" Rinoa quoted. "Just some old poem we had to learn at our school. I loved poetry. Maybe I should write Edea a poem." 

Selphie and Quistis both looked at each other with expressions of identical horror. 

"Train?" 

"Train." Selphie agreed. "My, look at the time…."

 Rinoa got up from the table "Quistis, just one thing. He said to me one night…." She paused, looking as if she was searching for the right words.

In the sudden silence, Quistis tried not to imagine Rinoa pillow talking their commander.

"He said be careful.  He said Balamb can't afford a rerun of the wars-everyone's forgetting the good and the bad. The CLA's only one example, there's this election in Dollet for the Dukedom Parliament. Some of the candidates aren't uh, 'enamoured of our skills' was how he put it. I think he meant that they don't like us." Rinoa sounded slightly insulted.

Selphie waved one hand. "Oh, the chances are it'll be a piece of cake. Just watch your step. And if you can come to some kind of an arrangement…."

"Then Squall'll be very happy." Rinoa chimed in. 

"So no pressure or anything." Selphie added, and smiled. She bent down and tickled Angelo's tummy as the dog rolled over obediently.  

Quistis said diplomatically, "I'll do the best I can."  _Arrangement?__ Huh. I can't even sort out my personal life._

Selphie beamed. "No problem them. We should have a treaty drawn up by this time next week!"

"Thanks." Quistis said, dryly. She found it annoying sometimes, to have everyone assume that you were going to make things work out all right. No one realised how much effort she put into making events occur the way you wanted, how much she sweated behind the scenes to maintain a controlled front of efficiency.

Selphie kissed the air again, in a theatrical manner that somehow stopped one shade short of pretentious. "Anyway. Mwa. We have to go. See you soon, okay." She slipped a small paper bag into Quistis' hand and whispered something into her ear before she walked over to the door and yanked it open. "Bye."

Rinoa gave Quistis a hug. "Take care, Quisty."

"We gotta run!" Selphie exclaimed as she looked at her watch.  She scooped up the empty bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, waving as she disappeared. Rinoa gave a smaller, apologetic wave and followed.

Quistis went out onto the balcony to watch them leave.  Rinoa's conversation with the receptionist must have been short, because seconds later she saw Selphie jump down the steps outside. She was singing gleefully

"Train, train take us away…."

Rinoa followed, joining in with Angelo tagging at her heels like a small and hairy shadow. "Take us away, far away…."

They ran onto the seafront, chanting as they went. Quistis waved from the balcony, watched them disappear stationwards and then went inside, feeling slightly lonely.

She flicked the switch of the coffee percolator and watched as it gurgled into life.

 The SeeD uniform she hung in her wardrobe, guiltily pressing the starched fabric to her nose and inhaling the familiar scent of Garden washing powder. The clean smell reminded her that she was still wearing the sweaty running shorts she'd put on to meet Seifer and she searched around for something new to wear. Suddenly her cupboards felt half empty. 

_Skirt..needs__ a clean. Trousers..too heavy. Jeans…..have to do._

While dressing, her fingers touched something large and heavy in the pocket of the fresh clothes. Quistis pulled it out, curiously.

It proved to be a key, a thin cheap Yale bearing a plastic tag that read Roof Garden.

It was a puzzle to Quistis where she'd obtained it until she remembered that she'd got it from the receptionist with Seifer. She turned the item over in her hands.

A roof would be cool and sunny. Quistis hated the heat. It made her think longingly of fresh air, of winds, or even summer rain fresh on skin. Living in Centra, they'd all prayed for rain every autumn.  After a long hot baking summer, the sky always opened to throw down more water than the orphanage ever saw for the other eleven months of the year. The cracked flower meadow earth would sprout new blooms, the arid desert ground fractured by millions of tiny streams winding their way to the sea, and the rocks of the beach stained themselves shiny blue with water.

Quistis thought longingly of running brooks and the exotic flowers of the Training Centre. She remembered the view of blue cloudy skies from Balamb Garden's balcony with an aching homesickness. The clouds were light and fluffy and white with none of the leaden cerulean tint of the south- a sign that it would be hot again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. 

She made herself a cup of coffee from the percolator in her room, shoved a pad of fine lined paper and a ballpoint into the folder, tucked the pile under one arm and then set off. She seemed to remember a door at the end of the corridor with a Yale lock. Seifer had rattled the handle cursorily whilst they were searching for a quiet way to get in and out of the building without the receptionist noticing, but with his usual impatience he'd never explored any further.  The guy just didn't have any tolerance for anything that wasn't immediate.

Hmm.

She tried the key.

With no particular surprise, she found that it fitted. Inside was a short corridor about two metres in length that led to a second door that Quistis opened with the same key.  She stepped cautiously out onto the low flat roof. 

It was larger than she'd thought, big enough to cover the roof of the new hotel complex constructed discreetly behind the back of the period residence that featured the reception and some of the larger, pricier rooms.  Installed upon the bare tiles was a sun lounger with a red and white striped parasol.

That was it.

Quistis sighed as all hopes of flowers and water fled from her mind. There were a couple of pots with dried dead twigs that rattled in the breeze and gave off a hot, heavy scent that settled oppressively around her. 

To her regret, the wind was very light even several stories above the ground. It moved the hairs on her neck and did nothing to cool her, only making her aware of how hot and uncomfortable she was.  The shade of the parasol looked inviting in the midday glare.

Setting the coffee down with a clink, Quistis climbed onto the sun lounger and soon found out that the hot plastic was uncomfortable even through her jeans. She compromised for sitting on the very edge, back hunched uncomfortably to the sun and the folder balanced open on her knees. 

To her pleasure there was a strong smell of lavender from the nearest pot. She began to think that maybe her impromptu exploration wasn't such a bad idea after all, even if the plastic was burning her butt and the laminated covering on the files was beginning to melt.

She adjusted the sunshade and settled down to read, taking a slurp of coffee first to fortify her nerves. 

An hour later, the cup was still two-thirds full as Quistis flicked through the information, a slight frown on her face. She'd long since stopped feeling the heat even though her spectacles were fogging with humidity and the shadow of the sunshade had moved on to cast its shade over another part of the lounger.

The information was exhaustive. Whoever had put the folder together for Squall had done a very, very good job.  There were copies of every press release, every feature and news report about the CLA and even a few satellite photos of their base, grainy grey and showing some kind of large building. 

Unfortunately, although she'd learned a lot about the politics of the group none of the articles had mentioned anything as prosaic as names. Strangely enough, and infinitely more worrying from Quistis's point of view, no one seemed to have been able to find out exactly who was heading the group, or what they wanted out of it, or exactly how a fairly minor peaceful protest organisation had turned into something more insidious and therefore more powerful.

To her mind it meant a change in target, and therefore, probably a change in management.

Absorbed, she reached the back of the folder. Tucked into the back cover pocket were a few posters. Quistis absently leafed through them. They were folded and stained, obviously peeled off some wall or other. Some were facsimiles, darkly over-exposed.

_Could this Be Your Kid?_

_Snakes In The Gardens_

_Children's Rights, Right Now_.

She shut the folder with a clap, realising as she did so that it was still very hot. Shiva whined in her head in a voice like cracking ice. Bahamut's growls had turned to a more pleasing purr, almost like a sleepy, well-fed cat.  Reaching back into her mind, Quistis could almost feel their physical presence. To her it was a familiar and welcoming sensation. 

She was grateful to Selphie. She really did think of everything. 

Quistis glanced at her watch and was surprised to realise that it was almost four p.m.  The conjunction of 'time' and 'Selphie' cross-referenced in her head made her wonder if the horrible clock was still in her office, or whether someone had had the guts to take it down and hopefully, burn the evidence. The 'burn' led onto wondering if the other girls had gone yet, which made her look up, shade her eyes and glance in the general direction of the station. There was no plume of smoke which meant that their train must have left. They'd said they'd have to leave quickly.

_I've got a day. Tomorrow, __midday__, that's it._

_No more holiday._

_No more early morning duels and sleepy long lie-ins. No more shared memories. No more Seifer._

The last thought did give her a pang. Quistis sternly stifled the regret. Seifer was probably bad for her.  She should be welcoming this mission.  Relationships were a tangle, a distraction.

_It's not a relationship._

_Just keep telling yourself that. You know exactly what it is._

_Maybe I shouldn't come back here. Maybe I should just go straight back to Garden and miss the holiday. Or get Squall to send me somewhere else and just forget. After all, I've got the GFs, how hard can it be? I'll invent some pretext for not giving them back, say I want to practice with Bahamut and forget within weeks_.

Quistis considered. All she'd have to do was surrender to the sweet GF induced amnesia she'd spent the last two years trying to push back and give up mining her own fogged memories.

_I can make it so none of this ever happened._

The thought was tempting. 

_He'll understand that I have to go back to Garden.  He'll know. It'll be all right._

_I hope……_

_It won't be all right._

_There's no way this thing's going to end up okay._  

Quistis wiped steam from her glasses and slunk back into the shade of the parasol.

_I'm Quistis Trepe, remember? Garden's Ice Queen. And now I have the GF to prove it._

How could she have thought the cosy domestic bliss of Rinoa and Squall was for her, much less the cheerfully pornographic ease of Selphie and Irvine's relationship? She didn't need anyone. Ice.

Shiva rustled in response.

_So I go and tell him I'm breaking up with him? Sorry, Seifer, duty calls. You're all right with that?_

She took up her coffee and swallowed half the mug in one huge gulp, not caring that it was half-cold. The heat of the sun had kept the cup from dropping below about twenty degrees, so it wasn't too repulsive.

She was angry.

Quistis closed her eyes.

The scent of the lavender tickled at her nose. There was another annoying feeling of forgetting, the sense that maybe the smell should have been mixed with other scents.

Maybe they'd played in the flower field.  She couldn't remember, and that ws one more thing she had to speak to Seifer about. 

Quistis raised her hand to her head.  The headache hadn't diminished.

_Seifer, I can't go. I haven't finished with you yet_.

I can always get Irvine to tell me.

_He's been using GFs for years, now. He won't remember any more._

Quistis slammed the empty mug to the paving slabs with enough force that it almost broke, let her breath out in one long exasperated sigh and turned to face the wind, brushing strands of long hair back from her face.  Her body itched with the urge to do something physical, something that would make her forget about the decision she was going to have to make.

_SeeD__ comes first.  It always comes first.  It's always been my home. People change but it stays the same._

She gave the folder one last glance and then stopped as a map of the local area caught her eye. The plan was etched with the normal landmarks, contour lines and points of minor interest.  Stamped over the thin lines were several red circles, obviously added later.

Draw points. 

Quistis examined the map for a hint as to what kind of magic they contained, but there was no accompanying text no matter how hard she looked. She turned back to the letter, which Selphie had thoughtfully slotted in the front of the folder.

 …_1200 hours on the 12th of June at Velalisier on Cape Wrath, approximately nine miles north of your current position. _

_The twelfth of June…_

She checked her SeeD issue watch, a multifunction and probably very expensive model that contained a built-in compass, altimeter, pedometer, calendar and pressure gauge.  It was resistant to water, blood, ichor, acid and venom, and had the kind of design that wouldn't have looked out of place on a cutting edge concept car.  Although Quistis would never have admitted it, it scared her slightly.

The date displayed in blinking amber letters on its face was 11.06. The eleventh of June. Which meant she was going to have to leave tomorrow, at eleven thirty at the latest, and she still had to junction magic, pack her stuff, and somehow tell Seifer she was leaving…

Quistis began to hyperventilate as the red circles on the map blurred beneath her panicking eyes. She searched frantically for the nearest draw point to the hotel and relaxed imperceptibly as she found there was one just inland of the beach where they usually trained.

_I can get there tonight….maybe ask Seifer to come along as backup for any monsters that might have got in….after I've told him of course._

_Hyne.__  Why do I get myself into these situations?_

_I don't._

_Usually….___

She sighed, gathered the folder up and lifted her mug.  Giving one last glance round to check that she hadn't somehow left vital mission information behind, she crossed the paving to the door and then let in a breath she hadn't realised she as holding as the cool shadowy hallway gathered her in. 

Five minutes later Quistis had locked the folder carefully into the bottom drawer of her desk, washed the mug out in her tiny sink and was on her way to the other side of town.  She walked the streets almost in a waking daze, thoughts spinning through her mind without paying any attention to where she was going.  

_I should have told them when I got the letter. _

She pinched the bridge of her nose, ignoring the other pedestrians, the sun and the cawing seagulls. Her game face erased all traces of emotion, but behind the mask Quistis had rarely felt more like giving up. 

_I've got two options. Three, really. One, I go back to Garden after I finish the mission, and forget this ever happened._

But then behaving in such a selfish manner wasn't fair on either of them. Seifer wasn't going to like it if she told him she was going to leave early. He'd argue and fight dirty and follow her back to Garden if she pissed him off that badly, if only to level the score. 

Plus of course, if he ever realized that she'd even once considered not only leaving but forgetting everything their relationship then Hyne knew what would happen then.

Like Seifer's letter, Quistis decided that she owed him at least the courtesy of telling him what was happening. 

_Two, I don't go on the mission. I tell them I'm quitt-_

_I'm leavin-_

_I resign…_

_Breathe.  I can't do that. Does he expect me to do that?_

For a moment she entertained the proposition. Leave Garden. Stay with Seifer.

_As if that would ever work.__  It might be terrible._

_It would be terrible._

_We have kids and he starts drinking or at least doesn't quit, and then when he dies of lung cancer at the age of thirty I have to bring them up all by myself and start stripping to pay the debts….and… and this line of thought is ending right now._

_Three, I finish the mission, come back, and have two more weeks here to finish off whatever._

_We've got to think about this sometime._ _I slept with my enemy, and we all know how those stories end. Lightning, plagues, mutual suicides, true love…..___

_Dammit._

It felt like she was running along a treadmill, pacing over the same old ground over and over again without really getting anywhere. Oh, she'd considered all the options before, but she'd never thought that she'd be called upon to make the decision so soon.

_Story of the world-everyone knows it's coming, but not so soon._

Quistis wondered where that last phrase had come from. It had the cadence of a quote.  She thought Rinoa might know, and wondered if the pair had returned to Garden yet.

_I wonder if they realised anything was wrong?_

Quistis thought that Selphie at least probably had a pretty shrewd idea of what was going on, if you left the Seifer part out. But then again, Selphie would probably be quite capable of ignoring Seifer's not inconsiderable criminal record, if only because Quistis was finally getting some. 

_Hyne.___

She hated concealing things. It felt as if a weight was dogging her steps, draining everything bright out of life.  That four-AM feeling, when you woke up and just for a minute lost yourself in existential worry, realised you were going to die one day after all and then spent two hours huddled in the bedclothes trying to concentrate on breathing.

And then in the morning, everything was normal again and you wondered what in the world you'd been so bothered about.

_This will pass_, she told herself. _This will pass_.

_Argh_.

She turned round to check a street sign and reassure herself that she hadn't somehow been working in the opposite direction, took a step forwards and slammed into somebody.  

Quistis' training automatically took over. She leant back, redistributing weight to her centre of balance to stop herself from falling.  One hand reached for the small backpack containing her whip and then just as quickly pulled away from it once she realised her situation.  Her glasses slid down her nose with the impact and she snatched at their wire frames to stop them falling into the street. There seemed to be a pale cascade around her that focused sharply as the lenses covered her eyes. A torrent of small photocopied pamphlets drifted to the ground around her and Quistis realised just who she'd bumped into.

He was a tall man, dressed in a crisply pressed dark suit despite the heat. Over one shoulder was slung a satchel with 'Hyne Saves' painted carefully on the flap and pamphlets in various pastel colours overflowing from its open mouth, half of which now decorated the street around her. Quistis stepped hastily back, trying not to tread on any of the papers. 

"I'm sorry…." 

It's all right, child."

She bristled at the condescending tone. The voice was indistinct, muffled by the fact that the man had one gloved hand over his face. 

It looked familiar.  She thought back to their first training session, over a week ago, and then remembered.  It was, of course, the religious man who'd tried to convert them both. He'd made a second brief appearance under Seifer's window at the bonfire, the first night they'd….

_Anyway.___

She knelt down hastily, collecting handfuls of papers and looked up over her glasses at the priest. There was a half-hunched set to his shoulders like he was trying to look shorter than he was. Quistis thought this strange but then the odd posture was lost as the man bent down beside her and scooped papers into his bag with the practised gesture of someone who had done it many, many times before. He didn't look her in the eye.

_Incurably shy_, Quistis thought, and reached for the last leaflets, only to be stopped by an outflung hand. 

 "It's all right, miss. I'm fine."

"Well, if you are..."

"Can I interest you in a copy of the Life Of Hyne? With illustrations?"

The offer sounded halfhearted. 

"No. I'm sorry." Quistis said hastily.  

"They're in colour."

Quistis thought about arguing that surely the quality of illustrations in your religious literature of choice was fairly low in your spiritual armoury while converting the heathen, but then decided against it. She stood and began to move away. 

There was a short pause behind her as the priest took a deep breath and then directed his rhetoric at yet another hapless passerby.

"_Have you accepted Hyne as your personal saviour?_"

Quistis flipped her spectacles back onto her nose and carried on down the street. She hadn't got anything against religion, not personally but she found it hard in her line of work to believe in any kind of deity.  Apart from the 'trust in Hyne but keep your powder dry;' variety that most soldiers turned to when the shit hit the fan.  It was surprisingly hard to be an atheist when someone was shooting at you, if only because you needed to be able to take somebody's name in vain.

By the time she reached Sullivan Street the afternoon was fading towards early evening in a mist of orange haze. The sunlight had turned a pleasant gold, like aged whisky, that made even Seifer's house look semi-respectable. 

Given the recent storm, this was no mean feat. The rain had loosened a couple more boards from the wall, exposing slabs of cheap polystyrene insulation that was already peeling away in strips.  The sign hung from one remaining nail, painted over anonymously. It swung rhythmically with a creak of splintering boards and rusty metal. 

Quistis walked up the steps and then tried the door. Misgivings came back to haunt her as she wondered what she was going to say to Seifer.

To her relief, she didn't have to say anything.  

The door swung open easily, but inside, the flat was empty. 

_He's really gone this time,_ Quistis thought as she checked behind the curtain and then decided to wait. She interpreted the unlocked door as a sign that maybe Seifer wouldn't be very long and looked round for somewhere to sit.  

The room was stiflingly hot.  Despite the open front door the flat's only window had been shut and locked, for a reason best known only to its inhabitant. Needless to say, the air conditioner had once more died, and no amount of fiddling, cursing or surreptitious kicking on Quistis' part could resurrect it. 

That left the window as the remaining source of fresh air. 

It took her a good five minutes to figure out how to open it, a complicated procedure that involved twisting a tiny key to the right, flipping up a handle, twisting the key to the left and then pulling it out of the lock.  The cheap thin metal bent alarmingly under her hands, threatening to snap. 

By the time she finally wrestled the sash up, Quistis was out of breath, several degrees hotter and extremely frustrated. She was even more incensed to find that it really hadn't been worth the effort.  The open window released a few fat and sluggish flies but the warm breeze that wafted in was almost as hot as the room. Still, at least it erased the smell of unwashed socks, nicotine and oil that seemed to be coming from the horrible carpet.

Quistis dragged a chair near to the window, set her backpack carefully on the floor and searched round in the bookshelves for some reading matter, noticing that Seifer still hadn't returned his library books. She picked up a copy of the Princess Bride and then settled down to read.  

Some time later she noted lazily that Hyperion was nowhere in sight. Quistis wondered where Seifer had hidden it and then flipped the book closed as a more alarming prospect came to mind. 

_Ye gods.__ He wouldn't be so stupid as to use it in broad daylight……_

Her musings were cut short by a noise outside on the landing that was too loud to be either the cat or Seifer's old and infirm next-door neighbour. Quistis yanked her bag onto her lap and had her right hand on the handle of her whip inside before the door creaked open.  The book dropped to the floor, forgotten.

"Make yourself comfortable." Seifer raised an ironic eyebrow. To Quistis's vast relief he was holding a shopping bag instead of the gunblade she'd half expected.

Quistis let go of the rucksack. The heavy weight of her whip inside carried it to the floor with a _clunk_. "You gave me a shock." 

"It's my flat. Who'd you think it was going to be?" 

"The police? Angry righteous citizens with flaming torches? SeeD?" 

Seifer kicked the door shut behind him. "You're SeeD."

"I'm on holiday." Quistis picked the book up and dusted it off ostentatiously.

"I noticed." 

"What's that supposed to mean." Quistis said nastily, thinking _not any more I'm not_.

"Dunno." He dumped the bag on the worktop, emptying out shopping.  From what Quistis could see the groceries inside consisted of equal amounts of food and cigarettes.  The food was mostly in the form of large, label-less cans.  

"What's that?"

Seifer stopped unpacking for a second and rolled his shoulders forwards as if the muscles ached." Shopping? Food? Camouflaged hand grenades?"

"Be serious."

"I'm always serious.  It's just tins, nothing so exciting.  When the labels fall off the shop sells them off cheap."

"How do you tell what's in them?" Quistis asked.

"You don't. They could be spaghetti or fruit cocktail or even worse, dog food.""

"You've got no standards."

Seifer grinned. "Don't put yourself down."  __

"Haute cuisine." she said sarcastically, and made a face.

"Not really. Stew for one, alcohol for three, cigarettes for nine…." Seifer finished unpacking, screwed up the carrier bag and aimed it in the general direction of the window. He left the shopping on the worktop and scratched between his shoulders, shifting irritably like he couldn't get whatever it was he wanted to pop, cracking his knuckles. 

The sound got on Quistis' nerves like fingernails dragging down a blackboard. She ignored it until from the sounds of it he'd popped just about everything else in his body and then asked "What are you _doing_?"

Seifer cracked his knuckles again. "That reminds me. I need a favour."

"What kind of favour?" Quistis asked cautiously.  "I'm not giving you a kidney."

"Nothing big. Nothing like organ transplants, you know. I just wondered if you were ever going to get round to taking these bloody stitches out. Tried myself this afternoon with a penknife and the mirror off the bathroom wall."

"It didn't work?" 

"Have you ever tried to do surgery on your own back with an Estharian Army Knife?"

Quistis shook her head. "I can't say I've ever been that stupid, no."

"They itch."

"Hard man."

"They do. It's damn annoying."

"I'll need scissors"

Seifer hunted round in the cutlery drawer for a moment. "Check." He chucked a pair of scissors towards her and Quistis winced as they gouged a hole in the carpet but thankfully missed her leg. 

"You'll never get your security deposit back, you know."

Seifer shrugged with one shoulder. "Hey. _You_ kicked a hole in the wall, remember?"

_Touche_.  

She gestured to the floor. "Sit. And take off your shirt so I can get the sutures out."

"What?"

"Sutures. It's just another word for stitches."

"Do I look like I came here for a lesson?" Seifer sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of her and rested his elbows on her knees. "This okay?"

"Mmmm." Quistis inspected the wound, pleased at her handiwork.  It had healed well, better than could be expected, in fact, given the not-so-sterile properties of the sewing thread and embroidery needle she'd used. "Don't move. I don't want to cut you by mistake."

She took silence as assent and carefully slid the blades of the scissors under the first suture.

Seifer sat motionlessly and asked "What did they want?"

Quistis shrugged, realised that he couldn't see her and gave a noncommittal grunt.  

"What's the matter?"

"I don't want to talk about it.  Yet." She blew hair out of her eyes irritably.

"Rinoa and Selphie, huh?"

"I said I didn't want to.."

"I know, I know, okay. Yowch.  That hurt."

"Two more to go.  Maybe next time you'll stop and think before you dive into a fight."

"What, like you lot?" Seifer commented sarcastically " 'Oh, are we getting paid for this? We are? Right then.' You don't get stuck in until you've run a credit rating check"

Quistis didn't deny the observation. "We might do it for money.  You do it for kicks.  That's worse." She snipped the last stitch free.  

"Money isn't everything.  Power, on the other hand.."

"Cash helps." Quistis said in an ending-the-conversation tone of voice. "All done.  It looks okay."  

And it did, to her surprise.  Quistis gave her work a critical glance.  The wound was a thin pink line, with a row of darker pink dots to each side where the stitches had gone in.  A couple of them were bleeding slightly and she wiped her thumb over them.

Seifer slid one hand over his shoulderblade and ran his finger over the cut, contorting his back in an effort to see down his own spine.  "Feels all right."

 "Looks like it missed your tattoo, anyway." 

"Thanks." Seifer reached out for a packet of cigarettes without getting up.  The tiny flat would have been a godsend for any terminally lazy person because almost everything was within arm's reach.  From where she sat, Quistis could have touched the table, the second chair and possibly the bed, though it would have been a stretch.

But she wasn't in the mood for Seifer's nicotine addiction.  Her head still ached dully.

"Light that and I make you eat the entire pack."

"Hyne, bossy women…." Seifer turned round, hugged her round the waist and then kissed her on the neck.  He was almost tall enough to reach her mouth, despite the fact that she was sitting on a chair and he was still kneeling on the floor. Quistis had hated it while she was training him because it made it infuriatingly easy for him to stare down his nose at her.  Now, strangely enough, she didn't mind.

She allowed herself one kiss before the full load of guilt she'd been busily nursing since Selphie and Rinoa's visit crashed into her like an express train and she pushed Seifer away.

"Hyne, what's the matter." He looked thoughtful. "I can guess." 

"Don't, Seifer.  Just don't." Quistis glanced around the room.  Her eyes lit on the thin sticks they'd used for duelling with. They weren't the original items, but rather just two more successors in a long line of fake swords. Somehow whatever driftwood they found seemed to be shattered into splinters by about the first fifteen minutes of the fight.

"Want to go down to the beach to train? It'll be dark soon." she asked.

"Okay. We can stay here if you like, though."  Seifer's tone of voice indicated that he knew something was wrong and that he didn't like it.  Quistis thought that he could, in fact, probably guess what the girls had come for, if he really put his mind to it. It wasn't too hard to work out and whatever else Seifer was he wasn't incurably stupid.

 "No. I want to go."

He sighed regretfully. "I had such plans for the three of us."

"Three?"

"You, me…and a bottle of tanning oil."

"You don't have tanning oil."

"No. But we could improvise."

Quistis rolled her eyes and tried not to be tempted by his suggestion. "How do you feel about going somewhere else afterwards?"

Seifer looked interested. "Where?"

"I've just got some work to do. Maybe you could bring Hyperion." Quistis said casually. She looked around for Seifer's gunblade, but it was still nowhere to be seen.  If it had belonged to anybody else, she would have automatically assumed that it had been stolen through the open door, or pawned for money. However, you messed with Hyperion over Seifer's dead body, and anyone else who even touched the weapon would definitely be looking forwards to a nice long painful death. 

He scowled. "What for?"

"I need to go get something. Out of the city walls. There might be monsters."

Seifer grinned. His gaze went to the window and then traced back to Quistis. "Maybe we should leave it to the morning. There's got to be better things to do.."

"No. " Quistis frowned. She thought she was getting a headache "I just need to get out. Take my mind off things."

Seifer shrugged. "Well, if you want to…..When'll we be back?"

"I don't know. It won't be late. Most people actually sleep at night, you know."

Seifer ignored the comment, got up and went to the window. He climbed out onto the sill, which sagged ominously, turned round and started searching for something that was apparently on the roof. His voice, when it came, was faint.

"You want to stay here tonight, then?"

Qustis mentally weighed up the extra trouble of walking back to her hotel room after they'd battled each other and she'd found what she was searching for. With a headache. 

It was just too much effort. 

Seifer climbed back into the window, holding a bundle wrapped in a piece of blue tarpaulin. He placed it carefully on the floor and peeled back two layers of plastic and one of folded newspaper to reveal the sleek black lines of his gunblade case.

"You hid it outside?"

"I thought about what you said about anyone searching the place"

"That'll be a first." Quistis said acidly.

"Hyne, just because I didn't do anything you wanted me to doesn't mean I didn't consider it.  There aren't many places to hide stuff in this shithole..well, not if you skip the really obvious spots. Like 'beneath the floorboards', 'above the ceiling tiles', or that old favourite, 'under the bed'."

"Okay." Quistis picked up her rucksack, checking that Save The Queen was coiled easily inside. "Let's go."

The dusk had closed in by the time they got outside.  It was still hot and full of sound, the shouts of drunken teenagers mixed with the click of slot machines and backed by the relentless sound of the sea.

They walked to their usual duelling spot in silence.  Quistis had found an old golf bag from the janitor's closet down the hall for the stick swords, and Seifer had added Hyperion.  By common consent, Seifer carried the bag, not because Quistis wasn't capable of lifting heavy objects, but because it was his sword.

Quistis was the first to break the silence.

"You know what Selphie did just before she left?"

"No. What?"

"Handed me a pack of condoms and told me not to do anything her and Irvine wouldn't."

Seifer whistled. "Looks like you have pretty free rein then." 

"It's not like I even need them." Quistis touched her arm. All SeeDs were given a contraceptive implant at puberty, a small chip that fit like a tiny grain of rice under the skin. There was a tiny white scar marking the spot where it had been injected.

"Bloody cheeky cow." Seifer muttered. 

Quistis couldn't see whether or not he had turned red, in the dark, but she doubted it.

She felt called on to defend her friend. "Selphie enjoys life." 

_The more biological parts, anyway._

Seifer muttered something uncomplimentary. 

They were deep in the dunes by now.  Quistis reviewed the map she'd memorised on the rooftop and stopped, squinting over to the shore side to try and reconcile the terrain with the two-dimensional image stored in her brain.

"I think this is it."

"It's what?" Seifer gestured at the surrounding sand. The dunes were deserted, free even from monsters.  A resort town was no good without a beach, after all.  Eaten holidaymakers couldn't spend money, so the town had shelled out for a perimeter fence that spanned over eight miles of seafront.  It wouldn't be too much of a problem to climb to get to the draw point, Quistis thought. 

"The thing I have to go pick up. It's in there."

Seifer examined the sand at his feet. "Where the hell?" 

She pointed at the tangle of scrubby forest inland. "There."

"Don't tell me you have to go find Marlboro tentacles." Seifer griped. "Practice first?"

Quistis nodded and dropped her rucksack to the ground while he unzipped the golf bag. She added, reluctantly "It's not tentacles."

"That was what Selphie and Rinoa came for? They wanted you to pick up something up? The lazy fu…"

Quistis was tempted to take the easy way out, but her conscience wouldn't let her.

"….Not exactly. I'll tell you later. Just fight, okay? I need to get my head sorted out."

As she'd hoped, Seifer implicitly understood the psychology of losing yourself in physical activity. He picked up the nearest stick with a shrug. "Not a problem. Damn, these things really are light."

Quistis put her hands on her hips. "I'm not duelling for real."

I _might get a bit carried away, and I don't really want to see you frozen into a block of ice, no matter how that would improve my current dilemma_

Seifer worked the tip of his stick under the second branch and flicked it up towards Quistis, who caught it automatically.

"Ready?"

"Ready." Quistis lied

. Really, she wasn't at all prepared. Her head was still a bundle of conflicting thoughts, her mood unimproved by the bite of the odd mosquito that haunted the dunes after dark.

Seifer gave a stabbing lunge.  Quistis barely dodged.

"That was it? Come on. I thought you wanted a fight."

The second lunge broke through Quistis's guard entirely and landed with a thud on her clean pale T shirt.

"You're not trying." His voice was faintly mocking.

Quistis slashed the stick in a defensive Z pattern, trying to gather her thoughts as Seifer feinted again. He moved neatly, eyes on her face and not on her weapon. When she raised her arm for another blow he darted in, grabbed the tip of the stick and then Quistis's shoulder. He kissed her hard and then was out of range by the time she'd gathered enough presence of mind to even complain.

"That's cheating. If this was a real fight I'd have cut your hand off."

"There's nothing wrong with cheating in battle, just as long as you win." 

"Winning is normally defined as having both hands when you finish."

Seifer aimed a blow at her legs as a reply. She jumped clumsily, the warm sand filling her shoes as she landed. The anger seemed to have cleared her mind and she fell almost easily back into the old familiar rhythms of Garden drill. Thrust, parry, riposte. 

Seifer countered each one until he switched hands with the stick and nearly beheaded her with a blow to the neck.

"Don't let yourself get into a pattern, okay?"

Quistis scowled.

Seifer fought to win, but he also fought as if this was a training exercise, not a real duel.  If she thought like that it was simpler. _These are not real swords. Therefore the tactics I need to use aren't the same as with real swords._

_Winning is everything._

It went against Garden's training, which was 'Winning is everything, as long as you try to cause as little mess as possible and remember to get paid at the end of it all', but it fit in perfectly with Seifer's personal philosophy.

Next time the stick came swooping towards her she grabbed it and broke it in half.

Seifer smiled. "You're learning. He stopped for a second and she levelled her stick at his throat.

"I'll have to get you to fight me with a whip sometimes."

"Over my dead body."

Just because you know you'll lose." 

Seifer shrugged noncommittally.

Oh, you so would. You like close range weapons."

"It's more personal."

"What, piping hot death, served to your own terminal specifications? I doubt they care."

Quistis was loosening up. She began to enjoy the fight as she rushed Seifer with her stick, pressing her advantage and pushing him down the seawards side of the dunes so he had as much trouble keeping his footing as he had fighting her. She scored two more hits and felt more at ease, laughing at Seifer's rueful expression as she tried to stop him regaining the top of the dune. The dark was a refreshing colour to her tired eyes as she forgot her worries in action.

Seifer was always a good opponent. Harshly critical, sometimes unpredictable, hating to lose, loving to win.

They finished fighting thirty minutes. The duel was classified as a draw on both their parts, seeing as both the sticks brought from the flat had been broken into small pieces, moving from broadsword to rapier to dagger and finally to useless. 

Quistis flopped to the sand near her bag. 

As her back touched the beach the impending headache returned in full force. She huddled her knees up close to her chest and touched one hand to her forehead, gritting her teeth like somehow that would hold it in.  It felt like her brain was pulsing against the unyielding surface of her skull. Quistis had to stifle a gasp.

"What's up?"

"Headache." It was an understatement. The heat combined with Selphie's magic had fused to give Quistis a sore head that felt as if someone had dropped a grand piano on her skull, like in some particularly masochistic cartoon. Bahamut rumbled and she clenched her teeth together.

"Bad headache?"

"Uhhh."

Seifer got up, reached into the golf bag and pulled out a bottle of tap water, still adorned with the peeling label of a different brand.  He reached into his pocket and threw a packet of extra extra strong painkillers into the sand near her head.

Quistis peeled each pill out of its foil packet slowly, trying not to make any noise.

She almost asked him if he expected to get injured, but her head hurt too much to speak.  She swallowed the pills and took a gulp of water to wash them down, swallowing dryly to exorcise the ghost of the tablets from her throat. 

Leaning back on the sand, Quistis stretched out, arms above her head, and closed her eyes. The warm, yielding surface gave under her body, contouring to fit her shape like a really expensive mattress.

Seifer sat nearby, not touching her but close enough so she could feel his body heat He didn't say anything.  Quistis was grateful, because she thought that any word would have cracked her skull.  The headache pulsed between her ears in time with her heartbeat until, it finally began to fade.

Seifer must have sensed her posture relaxing.  "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." She could see his sharp profile in the night.

_Damn Selphie and her magic, The GFs all junctioned at once..no wonder I have a sore head. It's a miracle my brain doesn't fall out of my ears._

Seifer moved imperceptibly so that they were touching, and placed one arm round her. It fit into the hollow above her hips nicely as if her body was designed for it.

"She was glad of the dark that shadowed both their faces.

"Feeling better?"

She nodded. 

"Want to get going on that trip?"

"In a minute. There's something I need to tell you first."

Lots of people said about the fortunetelling, I don't believe in it myself, but my twin sister does have a pack of Tarot cards, and a book on how to read them. The cards I used pretty much mean what I wrote, though there's some extra bits I cut out of the fic because they made it too long. The bit about the GFs has some artistic licence taken, for reason that will be revealed later.

I also posted a list of my favourite links on my author profile.  My faves are probably estrigious.com for art, and mooncalf.org or Moon Pants for fic.  

So:

Breaker-one: I haven't finished playing the game either, though in my case it's more about a point of honour. I promised myself I'd upgrade everyone's weapons before it starts getting really serious at the end of disc three, only to find that you need bloody Marlboro tentacles for Zell and Quistis' weapons.  And so far all I seem to be able to do against a Marlboro is stand there while it Breaths me. This leaves all my party red, green, bubbling and turning gently in circles. Then it attacks and I run away before it KOs me and spend about half an hour trying to find another Marlboro.  Tips are gratefully appreciated, cause it's really pissing me off. 

DBZ Fanfiction Queen: Waaaa. * hangs head in shame.* That's what I get for having a beta that doesn't play games and trying to update every two weeks March-June during the annual Great Revision Hell that is my sorry life. Apologies.

DisturbedVenus: I hate to disappoint you, but…maybe later. 

Ghost140: Uh, Linkin Park. Them of the 'angry people shouting' genre.

Kjata: For good fic, check out some of the links on my author page.  

Mana Angel: Thanks for reviewing. Uh, Quistis did almost kill Seifer, but then so did pretty much all the other characters. Again, the fighting=sex thing comes into play, though I hate to think about what it means for Seifer and Squall. Although, I don't have to, because many, many authors have done it for me.

 I am disturbed.

Melete: Wow, thanks. :o I'm flattered. Really.

Nynaeve77: ta!

Quistis88: the adventures of Seifer and Quistis will indeed end sometime in mid July, because I want to go on holiday.  Uni work willing, they will, perhaps, be back in late September.

Sickness In Salvation: That's the great thing about fanfiction, you can put all kinds of refs in. In this chapter, Final Fantasy Ten, and that's about it. Oh yeah, the comic Strangers In Paradise, too.

Kate (You're watching the Family Learning Channel!-Now watch as I fire angry ticks out of my nipples!)

I * heart* Don Hertzfelt's short films


	14. Chapter Fourteen: This Thing You Call Lo...

Chapter Fourteen: This Thing You Call Love

And you're down to your last cigarette

And this 'we are one crap' as you're invading

This thing you call love

She smiles way too much

But I'm glad you're on my side, sure

I'm glad you're on my side still.

Tori Amos-Taxi Ride

Warning: more slash ahead. As normal, it's rated heavily PG-13. I try not to traumatise and view sex as a fairly important part of a relationship between two consenting adults. However, everyone knows where the back button is.  If you don't like the idea of two completely fictional people making love, I suggest you use it.

This public service announcement was brought to you by xahra99. 

Enjoy : )

 "Feeling better?"

Quistis's headache was finally vanishing, thanks to Seifer's aspirin. There was a tense knot at the base of her skull where she guessed Bahamut had finally taken up residence and a fatalistic feeling of anticipation in her gut, but it no longer felt like somebody was dancing in the space between her temples.  The other GFs were no trouble. Shiva had settled into her normal place somewhere under Quistis's skin and Siren, for once, was silent.

"Want to get going on that trip?" Seifer dragged his bag towards him and rummaged in one of the side pockets, lifting out a lighter and a fresh packet of cigarettes.  

Quistis heard the crackle of cellophane as he unwrapped the carton in the gathering dusk.  She chewed a fingernail and made a mental note to find some particularly horrible anti-smoking leaflets to leave in his pockets.  

"In a minute. There's something I need to tell you first."

As soon as the words left her lips, Quistis wished she'd never said them. As an opening sentence to watch out for, the one she'd just spoken rated on a par with "_I don't want to be nasty, but…" _

She held her breath for a second and then exhaled softly as Seifer ignored her comment.

Some times there was a bright side to dating a man with a les-than subtle personality

He merely leant back on his elbows in the sand and said "So what is it?" in a bored tone of voice.  Some time in the last few minutes he'd managed to light a cigarette and the glowing embers at its tip burned like a small supernova against the glittering evening sky. "Let me guess…you're pregnant…"

 "No!" 

"…and it's Squall's?"

"That's not funny." Quistis replied in a thoroughly disapproving tone of voice.  She sat down beside Seifer and rubbed gently at the back of her neck, where the fair skin had been badly sunburned during her time on the roof.

Around her the wind rattled in dead dune grass, sweeping away the marks of their fight like an expensive vacuum cleaner. 

Seifer grinned, glanced away down the empty grey beach, and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Anyway, I doubt Leonhart's got enough testosterone to actually…."

There was a short pause as Quistis picked up her rucksack and hit Seifer with it, though it came too late to abbreviate several suggestive hand gestures. 

When her wrists started to ache she let the bag drop to the floor, where the impact raised up sand and made her cough. Ignoring his quiet laughter, she suggested in a deceptively kind voice, "At least he isn't on a hormone-crazed male power trip."

Seifer shrugged and gave a lopsided smirk. "Yeah. I feel sorry for you. Those damn hormones."

 "You do?" This was a new one. "What have I got to do with this?" She was slightly puzzled, though this didn't stop her from thinking that most of Seifer's more unfortunate attitude problems could be easily solved by castration.

"It must be a real bitch having PMS twenty-four seve…"     

Seconds later, Quistis discovered that the light from Seifer's cigarette made a perfect target in the evening light. When she looked up from dealing out her righteous wrath, it was nearly full dark. The last rays of the sun painted the sky an unearthly shade of red that resembled a nosebleed.  

There was no one else up amongst the dunes and only a few people left on the beach, visible only as darker shadows silhouetted against the greying sand. Quistis licked her lips nervously, tasting salt, and wondered what on earth she was going to say. She couldn't seem to settle down. The beach was gritty, the grasses prickled against her skin, aggravating her sunburn and Seifer, sprawled out on the warm sand beside her, looked entirely too comfortable.  She ran through phrases in her head until her internal monologue was forcibly derailed by a lazy comment.

"What the hell is it?"

She looked round, guiltily. Seifer was only visible as a shadow amongst pale grey dunes, but she could smell the smoke from his cigarette clearly.  Like its owner, it had somehow survived her retribution.

"What?"

"Thought it might be some kind of mental problem.  I can hear you whispering to yourself, but nothing's coming out."

"I am?"

"Uh huh. And you're rocking backwards and forwards, too.  So just what the hell is it? Ever since Selphie and Rinoa came you've been jumpier than a virgin on prom night…and it isn't just 'cause of me.  Though I'd like to think so." 

Quistis looked along the dunes to the city lights, trying to think of an acceptable way to phrase her news. The calm surroundings conspired to create a false feeling of peace that did nothing for her mental turmoil.  

_To think that people come to the beach to relax…_

Seifer exhaled in a cloud of pale smoke. "I'm dying of excitement here."

Quistis snapped "Try harder, then." 

There was a short silence, in which she decided impulsively to jump straight in without testing the conversational waters. "Look.  They want me to go on a mission but I'm coming right back." She paused to let the implications of her words sink in and assess Seifer's possible response.

He sighed and stubbed his cigarette out in the sand, only half-smoked. "Fucking great."

There was an undercurrent of some emotion beneath the sentence, words sharply edged, though Quistis couldn't work out exactly which one of Seifer's limited palette of emotions was currently on display. Anger, possibly, disappointment, maybe, or even regret, which surprised her. Seifer never seemed to regret much openly, maybe because there just wasn't enough time in the day. Or the year, century or millennium, if it came to that.

There was a sudden silence. Quistis scratched at the back of her neck, peeling off shreds of skin.  Seifer picked his cigarette up from the sand and glared at it like he was trying to ignite it with a stare. 

"It's just a mission. I'll be back in a day or so."

"Like I care."

"Squall said I can finish my vacation afterwards."

"That's nice." His sarcasm would have made anyone with a thinner skin than Quistis wince.

 "You knew this was going to happen."

"Mm." Seifer reached for the bag and drew out Hyperion. He took the weapon from its cases and examined it in the dark, though Quistis knew that he couldn't possibly see anything.  Then again, if she had been a betting woman, she would have gambled that Seifer could strip and rebuild the gun by touch in less than two seconds. That was the great thing about her weapon of choice: a whip was extremely low on maintenance.

 He flicked the chamber out with a click, tilted the handle to let the bullets fall into his palm and then reloaded and chambered the gunblade.  

Quistis watched with mild apprehension while he ran a hand along the blade, millimetres away from the cutting edge, to brush off any grains of sand. She rested her other palm lightly on her chin, trying not to scratch, and squinted faintly in the dim light while Seifer sighted along Hyperion's barrel to the sea. 

_Maybe I should tie him to the bed to keep him out of trouble.  I can untie him in two days time when I come back._

_Maybe I should tie him to the bed anyway…down girl._

_I don't think he'd like that, anyway. The on-top thing._

Quistis shook her head, waking Siren's sleepy song between her ears.  Bondage fantasies tended to be slightly too far-fetched in a profession where the handcuffs might not always be fluffy. 

Seifer, thankfully unaware of just what she was considering, planted the gunblade point-down in the sand, where it stuck like a flagpole.

"You brought me all the way out here just to tell me this?"

Quistis tried to ignore the music in her head and concentrate upon the matter at hand. "It's no big deal. I just have to find a draw point in that forest and I wanted some company."

"And that's the only reason you asked me to come? As backup?" His voice had taken on a dangerous edge.

Quistis tried hard to keep her own tone utterly businesslike and as matter-of-fact as possible.  "Look. You know the group that attacked the Gardens? That's who I'm after. We're going to neutralise them."

"Terminally?" 

Quistis noticed with relief that Seifer's voice had lost its edge, his permanent aggression focused on the rebels rather than on her. The growing tension between them had slightly disappeared. "My job's to make sure they don't do it again. By whatever means possible."

"How's this your job?"

"Because the prevailing attitude in the corridors of power is that the CLA should be sterilised with the strongest spell we have."

"Wind's blowing towards Galbadia." Seifer said, nastily.

One of Quistis's hands found a piece of stick in the dark.  She ripped the bark off it with her nails absently and thought carefully before answering "Not all Galbadians are bad.  Take Irvine for example."

"Okay, the last time I saw any of the motherfuckers they shot me in the leg, but I'm sure they're really damn nice people.  Deep down, you know."

"The fact they were trying to kill you confirms their morality and high ideals." Quistis said.

 "Thanks."  

"Don't mention it. Look, we need to do this mission. I need to do this mission. I need to make sure these people don't hurt Garden."  She was playing on the threat connection like a harpsichord, banking on Seifer's mixed emotions when Balamb was concerned. On one hand, he'd tried to destroy it, but with the history went a certain amount of protectiveness.  

That much was clear, at least. 

As far as Quistis could tell in the heavy salt-scented darkness, her approach seemed to work. Seifer just looked thoughtful and asked "Going alone?

Quistis nodded.  Her neck itched, her head hurt and her hands were sticky with sap but it looked as if her news wasn't going to be an unmitigated disaster after all. 

Seifer kept his mouth shut for a few seconds, but his expression said it all. _Congratulations. Leonhart's now passed the border from 'Asshole' to 'Certifiably Insane' without even stopping to get his passport stamped._

His hand reached for the moulded adamantine handle of Hyperion. "You'll need backup."

"I'll have to manage without any, since I'm not getting it"

Seifer carried on like she hadn't spoken a word. "I'm coming." 

Quistis exploded. "That's supposed to be helpful? You must be completely insane to suggest it." The shadow of one late-evening dog walker turned its head and she hastily softened her voice.

Seifer shrugged "So? What's your point?"

"It's supposed to be diplomatic negotiations. Add in the fact that you're officially missing, presumed thankfully deceased, and we've got one hell of a disaster on our hands."

"You can't tell me not to come. I'm not a SeeD."

"Well, technically you still are a SeeD. I think you left before they had a chance to expel you from the entire school system."

"Well, technically, I'm dead. Nice to know we've got that problem sorted out."

"No. Way. If you are a SeeD, you have to play by our rules.  Which you don't. On the other hand, if you're a civilian then you can't even carry weapons without being a criminal."

"I don't see you arresting me." Seifer pointed out. "What the fuck do you expect me to do?"    

"Stay here. I can't take you with me."

"You mean you won't. And you won't have to. I'll come myself."

"Seifer, it's a matter of life or death. I have to go tomorrow." 

"Mercenaries are such fucking prima donnas. You said it's just paperwork. That means they'll just find someone else."

"I can't…" 

"Nobody's indispensable. Not even you. And if Selphie has time to turn up on your doorstep to go shopping, then why can't she do it?"

Quistis ignored his comment. "It's not paperwork. Just bureaucracy. It's not like I'm going to be in any actual physical danger-so nothing exiting or anything- and you'd just find it boring even if it was feasible for you to come." Sensing Seifer wavering, she pushed her point. "It's preliminary negotiations.  That's all. It's almost as bad as teaching. And I'll be back after the mission."

"So we can talk about this shit again when you have to go back in two weeks time? No thanks."

"We've got to talk about it sometime."

"You could quit Garden."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Forget I even said it, okay?  Just forget. Use those GFs or something. Hell, it was a bad idea anyway. I thought we were going to kill some monsters, not sit round there bitching all night."

"You don't have to."

"I need to kill something." Seifer yanked the gunblade out from the soft sand and stood up in one fluid motion, glancing at the wire mesh of the beach fence. 

Quistis looked up at him, sighed and shrugged. "You're fine with coming, then"

Seifer grinned. "Fine. First thing tomorrow, then?"

This time her sigh was louder. "Coming to the draw point. I haven't changed my mind about the mission. You're okay with that?"

"I'm not great. Feel kind of used, in fact.  But I'm not letting you wander off in there by yourself without some backup."

"You don't have to be all protective."

"You asked me."

"Fine."  

"Fine."

"What the fuck do you need, anyway?"

Quistis said "Magic." and levered herself up from the beach, dusting her butt off as she stood up.  She peeled on a pair of her shortest combat gloves, took Save The Queen out of her bag and looped it at her belt, adjusting her stance automatically to compensate for the familiar weight of the weapon on her hip.   Woven from chains and tentacles, the whip packed enough force to break ribs with one stroke and enough accuracy to take out an eye if you had the skill to use it well. Quistis did.  

Seifer frowned, as far as she could see in the dim light. "Magic? You junctioned?"

She kicked their bags into a pile in the lee side of the dune and half-buried them with sand. "Selphie gave me some GFs in the hotel. After the wardrobe incident." She scratched at her neck again and started walking over to the fence, feeling her shoes fill with sand again as soon as she moved

"They screw with your head."

 "Oh? Thanks for enlightening me." Quistis's voice dripped with sarcasm as she reached the chain-linked barrier. She laced her fingers through the wire mesh, listening for sounds from the other side of the fence. "You never get something for nothing. There's always a price, and as long as I'm happy to pay it then it's no concern of yours. It's my business. "

Seifer leant against the fence, which gave slightly under his weight with a soft clink. "You know what I think."

"You don't exactly hide your opinions, no."

"I can manage without them." Seifer stubbed his cigarette out on the chains and let it fall to the floor. He slung Hyperion across his back and set one foot on the fence, testing it to make sure it held his weight. It creaked but held, and satisfied, he started to climb, moving like a foulmouthed shadow up the mesh.

Quistis muttered '_Well, I can cope without your opinions'_. She took one last glance round the deserted beach to make sure the coast was clear and slotted both toes and one hand in the diamondshaped holes of wire. She climbed quickly and easily, with an economy of movement that got her to the top in three quick steps, swung over carefully, so as not to catch her jeans on the razor-sharp edges at the top, and then dropped to the ground.

Seifer waited impatiently for her on the other side. He'd already unsheathed Hyperion and was staring off into the dark, danksmelling undergrowth of the forest, listening alertly.  The bushes were thick with the sounds of small nocturnal creatures. The warm air sang with insects.  As Quistis's feet touched the floor there was a much louder roar from somewhere off to their left, deep into the wood, and all smaller noises fell silent, to resume cautiously a few seconds later.

"Sounds like a T-Rexaur"

 "Let's hope it's not."  Quistis consulted her map in the dark. "We're not going that way, anyway." She unhooked her whip from her belt, running over words of magic in her mind like she always did before any mission. Adrenaline crept beneath her skin and the quiet beach suddenly began to feel very safe as she viewed the map and listened to the night around them. "This path. It's not far."

Seifer glanced round doubtfully, squinted at the map and then set off into the undergrowth, walking in the wrong direction and wearing a purposeful expression.  Quistis cursed, stuffed the map in her jeans pocket and hurried after him. "You do realise that this isn't the path we want?"

Seifer grabbed for the map, held it up to his nose and glared at it in the dark.  Quistis didn't offer to lend a light. She pointed off among close-packed black trees, lifting her feet with faint disgust as something slithered across the toe of her polished trainers.

"This way."  

"Women can't read maps."

"And men don't ask for directions." Quistis shaded her face, took one step forwards and caught a faint glimmer of light out of the corner of one eye. "I'm sure you knew exactly where you were all that time in Trabia, didn't you?" She continued on without waiting for an answer, ignoring a baleful glare from Seifer. "And you wonder why I don't want you to come to Velalisier."

 "I thought it was because you'd get fired."

"Well, it is, but it's also because I happen to like you in one piece."

 "Knew you liked me." There was a happy satisfied tone to his voice.

"One day you're going to look back on all this and realize I was right," 

Seifer ducked under a branch "No, one day I'm going to look back on all this and crash into a tree 'cause I was looking the wrong bloody way. And I'll still be having a better time than this."

"Well, it's your own fault."

"You asked me to come."

"You agreed." Quistis said loudly, and then drew a finger across her lips as she realised that any number of monsters were probably within shouting distance. She pointed with the same hand, keeping a tight hold on her whip with the other. "The draw point's that way."

"Joy." Seifer said flatly. "Let's get this over with, so you can go do whatever the fuck you want." He hacked aimlessly with his sword at an overhanging vine.  "Damn these plants." 

Quistis snapped "Don't be too enthusiastic, will you?" and cast her eyes to the heavens, dramatically. There was a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision and she swung round to fix sights on Seifer.  

He was standing motionlessly, dark clothes blending into the shadows.  With one hand resting on a tendril of the thick creeper he'd just been slashing at and the other holding the grip of his gunblade, he was staring off into the night in the direction of the draw point.

Quistis narrowed her eyes behind her wire-framed glasses and squinted hard at the vine.  Even in the dim light there was something wrong about its anatomy. You really got some large tropical plants this far south, but she didn't think any of them bled. She moved one step closer, quietly.

_No doubt about it, that thing definitely twitched…_

There was a larger movement in the trees behind them both.  Sensing the motion, Seifer half-turned, to face the greenery and released the creeper with his left hand.  The vine dipped gracefully and moved like a fat snake in the shadows to catch at his wrist.  Seifer nonchalantly raised the gunblade and started to hack away at its fibrous strands.  

"Could do with some light here, Quistis.."

Quistis gestured with her free hand and said "Fira."softly. A grapefruit-sized ball of fire appeared between her spread fingers and levitated slowly up above her head. It was the latest technique from the Garden scientists: theoretically, at least, the energy channelling methods that the SeeDs used in battle could also be applied to more commonplace situations.  Unfortunately it also required skill, control and days of practice, but that suited Quistis down to the ground.

She took a moment to admire the intricate spell and then swiftly moved to back Seifer up, shaking the whip from her belt. " I think that's an …"

"Ochu." He finished the sentence off for her.

"I thought so." Quistis pressed one hand to her head as Siren's song swelled and intensified. The shadows in the trees solidified into a recognisable squat green silhouette as the globe of light rose higher, finally halting about two metres from the ground, where it burned harmlessly with a bright thin light. The Ochu snarled and Seifer flicked the gunblade up as the tentacle fell away from his hand. 

"Seifer, just stand back, okay." Quistis raised her hands. "Summon GF; Shiva." She opened her arms to the sky, feeling her vision blur as the ice elemental rushed through her with a torrent of Arctic wind and the tinkling crack of ice crystals. She heard Seifer swear and then her psyche exploded, lost in the sensation. She'd long ago decided that you never, ever got used to junctioning. 

Somewhere in the very back of her mind Quistis was dimly aware of the iridescent blue light that was Shiva's Diamond Dust attack and the icy bite of frost on her skin. She was blind to her surroundings, her companion and her opponent, deaf to everything except fracturing glaciers and she smelt nothing except the clean fresh scent of the air after snow for five blissful seconds before real life came back and slapped her in the face. 

The Ochu stood motionless in the trees, inert and covered with a faint opalescent sheen. Seifer was staring at her with an expression of faint awe. Quistis mentally preened, waiting for the praise, and pushed her spectacles up with one finger. The fire spell guttered and burned out overhead, dissolving into a shower of ash, and she felt her pupils suddenly contract in the unexpected darkness.

"Holy shit"

"No compliments?"

"Overkill." Seifer experimentally kicked the monster.  His boot impacted with a high chiming sound. It didn't move, but one tentacle broke off and fell to the ground to shatter into tiny pale green crystals. He wiped Ochu blood from his arm. "Nothing there. Bloody cheap monsters. And now I can't even sell the tentacles."

"You're not that hard up, surely?" Quistis had always regarded Ochu tentacles as the nougat swirl in the chocolate box of life, they weren't much use and replaced much more favoured and rare objects. She examined the monster with interest, tapping the handle of her whip gently against its frozen body.  There was something satisfying about ice spells.  They were so…clean.

Seifer shrugged with one shoulder. He wiped his sword on the sparse stringy grass, looked at it critically and then cleaned it on his jeans, where the blade left a faint oily mark. "Magic?"

"Magic." Quistis confirmed. She doused the light and glanced round in the direction of the draw point. Seifer had moved over to the Ochu and was attempting to prise something off its flash-frozen carcass, judging by the tinkles and smashes of falling ice and several swearwords.

"I thought you said the tentacles were useless." Quistis ran a hand through her hair.  One of the pleasant side-effects of summoning an ice GF in such oppressive humid heat was a cooling breeze that lasted a good five minutes after the attack. 

There were more shattering sounds by way of a reply. "I'm not after the tentacles…shit, you really don't go by halves, do you? This thing's chilled right the way through."

 "I don't want to know how you found that out. Now let's get moving, before we run into something larger."

"Carnivorous fucking plants. What next? Won't be a minute." 

He sounded slightly shamefaced, and Quistis wondered if it was sour grapes due to the fact that she'd finished off the Ochu, or merely embarrassment at having to sell monster by-products for money. She shrugged, and said "They wouldn't be such a bother if they didn't move." 

_And if wishes were horses then beggars would ride…_

Now that sounded like some kind of childhood parable.  Quistis set a course towards the draw point and was racking the depths of her mind for more associated memories when Seifer caught up with her, footsteps crunching loudly on the paper-dry leaves and wood chips that carpeted the forest. He tapped her on the head lightly as he brushed past and Quistis automatically put one palm up to her head, glaring at his retreating back.  To her surprise her fingers touched something cool, tracing across a smooth surface which blossomed out into a complicated series of ridges and folds.

Quistis loosened the object from her hair and turned it over in her hands, tucking Save The Queen back in her belt. 

It turned out to be one of the pink flowers from the Ochu's long, dangerous tentacles, frozen by the force of Shiva's ice attack. In the dark it looked grey, but she knew the flowers were usually a vivid pink.  She couldn't for the life of her work out how Seifer, a man to whom the word 'finesse' usually meant 'without any actual bleeding' had managed to detach the delicate structure from the melting Ochu corpse.  The flower gave out a strong musky but not unpleasant scent that made Quistis feel a little more comfortable with wearing part of a dismembered animal in her hair.

She tucked it back in her bun, skewering it carefully in place with her hairpins by touch alone and tried not to mind as it dripped water down the back of her neck.   

Seifer, ahead, had reached the clearing.

In appearance it could have been any one of a dozen small areas within the forest, created weeks or months ago by the felling of some forest giant.  However, natural clearings changed their pattern as old trees died and younger, smaller one rose up to take their place. This one was a constant.  Quistis knew that she could have returned ten years later, or five years earlier, and the clearing would still have been there, even though she'd never visited the spot before.  

In its centre was a small, pale grey chunk of stone, about the size of a basketball.  Above this unremarkable rock, a faint white haze rose like a ghost to illuminate the entire clearing with a faint and unearthly light. 

The vibrations of strong magic set Quistis' nerves on edge as soon as she stepped out of the trees. Seifer was standing uncomfortably a few feet away from the draw stone, and she joined him, gritting her teeth against the sudden ache as Bahamut growled angrily near the base of her skull.

Seifer glanced at the flower in her hair, but said nothing.

 "Do you want to junction?" Quistis tapped her fingers on her belt, running her nails along the dangling chains hooked at her hip.

"Me?" Seifer kicked the stone with a clink of metal on rock, and then turned to face her. He scratched at his scar, eyebrows meeting in the familiar scowl.

"I thought maybe you needed the practice." 

"I thought maybe you didn't want me to use magic.  I might use it for evil." Seifer said 'evil' with a kind of defiance and looked away as he spoke. He kicked the stone again, peeling curling strips of leather from the blunt toes of his boots to reveal silvery metal beneath.

Quistis sighed. "Seifer. I've known evil. I've fought evil. And you, believe me, are not. Nasty, (mostly), arrogant, (always), violent (ditto), selfish, (sometimes), manipulative, (same.) and delusional (occasionally). But not evil. Do you think I'd sleep with you if you were?"

Seifer was staring at her. "Hyne. You can pronounce brackets."

"So?" She watched him closely. Strangely enough, he didn't seem offended by her cataloguing his faults.  

"Well, uh, thanks for the vote of confidence. But isn't it illegal…" he spoke the last word with a bitter contempt "for civilians to junction magic?"

Quistis gestured at the draw point.  It sat there, squat and small in the clearing. The withered drought-struck leaves that carpeted the clearing's floor had conspicuously failed to rest on the rock. A faint haze shimmered palely just above its surface. "It's all right if you give the spells to me afterwards and you draw under my supervision. So, what about it?"

_I don't know why he's reluctant: it surely can't be the fact that it's against the rules… _

Seifer looked suddenly unsure. She knew he'd never been any good at sharing. His scowl deepened, face and hair pale in the dusk. "If you'd let me come with you this might have some point."

 "I won't have this conversation again." Quistis said automatically.  She folded her arms. "Over my dead body."

"See, if I don't come with you, it might really happen."

"It's just a meeting." 

"That's what they all think." He turned away again and experimentally waved one hand through the haze covering the stone.  It glittered into visibility and then melted back into the night. "Anyway, let's do this, if you want to. How?"   

 "Easy.  Like we teach the cadets, you draw from the stone, and then I draw from you." 

"Sounds kinky." Seifer rubbed at his scar harder, like it itched.  Quistis noticed that he'd bought gloves somewhere, the blocky patched kind that motorcyclists often used.  Acquired, anyway.  She doubted that he'd actually paid for them.

 "It's really not. Didn't you ever practice with other cadets?"

The atmosphere of magic was almost palpable, obvious to anyone with any training. Everyone said the feeling of paramagic varied to different people. To Quistis it always tasted like copper on her tongue, a faint scent of hot metal and a singing, high-pitched sound buzzing just behind her head.   

"Nah." Seifer said flatly.

"Not even your..posse?" The noise was getting stronger, melting into Siren's song..  Quistis shook her head, trying to remove it from her ears.  If she squinted, she could almost see a faint pink glaze a foot above the stone.

Seifer looked puzzled. "No.  Fuu junctioned Wind. Raijin got the thunder. I took the fire. Simple."

It didn't surprise Quistis that they'd never shared. There was a strange kind of intimacy on passing on magic.  SeeD didn't teach it in class, it was one of those things that everyone just assumed you'd done. Most people didn't bother focusing on just one kind of magic, because although it made you strong in some ways, it made you terrifyingly weak in others. It would have made more sense if the posse had fought as a group, but Seifer made his fights personal.

"Let's do it, then." 

Quistis couldn't have said why she suddenly wanted him to junction so much. Maybe it was because she'd seen him watch her cast a year ago in Trabia, eyeing her with a kind of half-jealous and half-angry expression. Maybe it was her version of a present, like the flower defrosting in her hair, some lame attempt to make up for leaving him behind.  Maybe it was her teacher's instincts coming out.  Maybe, if she was really honest, it was because she wanted to feel what it was like.  

"How?"

"Just draw like normal." Quistis rubbed at her lips. Her fingers were beginning to twitch with the proximity of the draw, tiny spasms that shook and flicked her hands.

"What about if you draw, and then I draw off you?" 

Quistis would have called the remark nervous on anybody else. She'd seen enough students to tell the difference, though, and Seifer just looked wary.  It was good to see him showing any kind of hesitation, but there was a high humming in her ears and she knew that if he didn't junction soon, she'd have to leave or do it herself.  

She sighed impatiently and beckoned him forwards.  "You first." 

Seifer gave her an unreadable look, shrugged, and stepped forwards, pulling his gloves off with his teeth. The night was still and dark around them and it all seemed unnaturally quiet. She could feel herself leaning unconsciously into Seifer, warm and familiar. He shifted slightly, aligning hip with hip so their bodies fit comfortably together.  Far away there was the crash and roll of the waves swirling into the beach.  Quistis could feel the magic in the air, hot and tense and sparkling. It crackled, calling to her.

The noise of Seifer's gloves falling to the floor was very loud. 

He waited for a second, raising his hands and aligning them slowly at chest height in a move that was almost hesitation.  As he stepped forwards to the edge of the stone he brought his bare palms down to touch the rock in one swift motion. 

Quistis watched as his head came up and he inhaled fast, eyes opening as if in surprise, his expression for a moment totally unguarded. His hair stirred as if in a breeze.  

She waited quietly in the dark and watched as the stone began to glow gently.  The light brightened into a fiery heat that turned Seifer into a black silhouette. There was a sense of waiting in the air, as if the whole clearing had taken a breath, before the glow exploded into a kaleidoscopic display.  A wind whipped the trees, leaves spinning out and clouds of dust rising from the ground to spin in miniature tornadoes against Seifer's back.

Quistis could guess exactly what he would be feeling.  There was nothing like junctioning magic. It felt as if you had channelled all your energy into one element and released it to race through your body, magic grounded along veins and sinews, nerves and muscle until it earthed somewhere under your ribcage and departed.

There was a pale burning glow in the air that Quistis recognised.  Fira, then.

It would be.

She waited with the magic singing in angry jealous spurts along her own veins until the wind died down and the pyrotechnics vanished. Seifer took his hands from the stone and turned towards her, with a slightly shaky grin.  

"Shit, that feels good." 

"Good?"

"Really fucking good." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, whispered a few words and held out one hand. A ball of fire slowly coalesced in his palm, hovering a few inches above the skin. Seifer stubbed the cigarette in it with the other, took a deep drag and then clenched his fist.  He inhaled, took the cigarette from his mouth and opened his hand again with a theatrical flick. It was empty, hardly visible in the gathering dusk. The fire had vanished completely, taking with it the taste of magic in the air.  Quistis relaxed slightly, rubbing her hands together to erase the furious rush of tension. 

"Seifer, you are not supposed to light cigarettes with Fire spells."

"It could be worse. I could be burning things. You know, trees, buildings, random people…." He waved a hand round the clearing and sat down on the drawing stone, now glittering a pure white.

Quistis realised she was wringing her hands and stopped.  Seifer shot her a shrewd look. "Bugs you, huh?"

Quistis gave a stiff little nod. "It's like...oh, I don't know.  It's just really annoying.  Tastes like sucking a fork."

"I always thought it tasted like burnt sugar or something.  Kind of sweet, you know?" 

Quistis stirred one booted foot round the mass of fallen leaves. "It changes. Different casters."

  The cloying scent of hothouse flowers reminded her vividly of the Training Centre, of fighting monsters until her wrist ached from the strain of her whip.  "When was the last time you did that?"

"Burned people?" Seifer clicked his fingers. Sparks flared briefly and died, almost invisible in a faint shaft of moonlight.

"Junctioned magic."

" Two years. Roughly.  On the other hand, 'stab people?' Two weeks." His voice was faintly mocking, and husky with cigarette smoke.

 Quistis ignored the last comment (which she knew categorically to be untrue) and regarded him critically. "You could have been faster.  How many?"

Seifer shrugged, and then his eyes unfocused. "Nine." He glanced up and ashed his cigarette with one hand on the edge of the draw stone. "Minus one for the smoke." 

"Not bad."

"That's one thing I like about you, Quistis, always so generous with the praise. Same as fucking ever."

"Since when?" Quistis waved smoke away from her face, feeling her clothes stick limply to her skin. Long trousers afforded some protection but they were worse than useless in the sub-tropical heat.

"When you taught us." Seifer leant the gunblade carefully against his impromptu seat.   

"Do you have any idea how annoying that was?"

"What, because I always tried to show you up?"

 Despite Seifer's mocking words, his heart didn't sound in it. His cigarette smoke drifted up vertically, drawing a pale line in the hot, still air.

"No. Because you always wasted everything." 

"I was good."

"You knew you were good. I knew you were good. Squall knew you were good."

Seifer scowled. "Better than hi…." His hand reached down to touch the gunblade again, unconsciously.

"Let me finish. Being a good soldier means toeing the line.  It means not questioning what other people tell you.  It means doing it by the book. You're a good fighter but you're an awful soldier."

"And you're a perfect one, I suppose."

"It's no use being able to fight T-Rexaurs solo at fifteen if you can't pass your first-level exam.  You could have made a good SeeD if you'd just bothered to play by the rules." 

"I did."

"They don't count if they're your own." Quistis pointed out. As she fell silent she was painfully aware that she seemed to have slipped into her default mode, taking the lecturer's role while Seifer cheerfully ignored her advice, comments and criticisms.

To her surprise he elected not to pursue the topic. 

"Fine. Now are we going to do this or not?"

 "Yes."

"How do I do it?" Seifer stood up, stubbed his cigarette out on the stone and flicked it off into the bushes.

"It has to be body contact.  Most people do it by touching the forehead but hands, anything will do. Bare skin-don't say it!" She held up one hand, almost invisible in the dark. "It'll feel like drawing, but in reverse. It's pretty failsafe. Not much goes wrong."

_And of course, the operative word in that sentence is much, but I don't think you noticed._

Seifer glanced down at his hands and then on his gloves, lying on the floor. He stepped in close, leaving Hyperion propped up against the stone. 

She expected him to brush her forehead with one ungloved hand. Instead he kissed her, hard, a fierce kiss that was all Seifer. Quistis' mouth opened in shock before instinct took over and she began to kiss him back. She'd forgotten that there was an intimacy in passing on magic hand to hand, rather than the swift Garden dispensary or drawing from inanimate stones, mere repositories for power.

All in all, it was one hell of a kiss.

She had to fight to keep the grin off her face. 

Seifer's hands settled into the small of her back, pulling her closer, and within seconds as the magic in her blood died down and desire took its place, she forgot all about spells.   The darkness pressed close and heavy around them both, smelling of flowers, salt and, very faintly, burnt sugar. 

Quistis ran her hands up Seifer's back, encouraging him. She brushed her hands up his spine to the back of his neck and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips.  Seifer turned his head and kissed them, giving her a teasing smile.  The marks of his mouth seemed to burn against her skin.  Quistis blushed, grateful for the dark, removed her hands politely from his possessive grip and slid them down again to the ass of his jeans, where they fitted neatly, one in each worn pocket. 

She swallowed.

Sweat seemed to have broken out all over her skin and her breathing was coming faster.  It seemed to have got markedly more humid in the clearing over the space of about five minutes, for some reason it was hard to draw breath.  That was the only logical explanation.

The warmth of his body heat should have repelled her in the hot, muggy evening, but instead she pulled him closer, hooking one hand under his belt while thinking that she had obviously taken leave of her senses. 

The logical part of her mind argued that it was only an excuse and that she should be ashamed of herself. Another part of her commented caustically that she should do it more often.

Seifer took his hands from her shoulders and traced his fingers down to the outline of her small breasts against her top.  He was watching her intensely with a kind of possessive half-hungry desire that made her want to do things she didn't even like to admit to herself.  

It scared her.  

It was unprofessional and morally ambiguous.  Quistis knew that Seifer had an extremely dark side, partly because he'd never bothered to hide it from her, but it was difficult to reconcile this with the guy who currently had his tongue down her throat. She knew what he'd done and she still didn't care, and that scared her more than anything. She'd lied to her team mates, something that she'd sworn she'd never do.  She was helping to conceal a wanted criminal and secretly sleeping with the enemy might lead to a problem when they had to fight him again and gods that felt so good….  

Seifer took one hand off her breasts long enough to pull the pins out of her hair, dropping each one on the floor carelessly as he went. 

Quistis gave a half- muttered protest and took her hands out of his pockets to go and retrieve them.  They had somehow moved across the clearing, there was a shadowed mosaic of leaves above her head and her back was hard against the bark of a tree. He kissed her urgently one last time and then pulled back, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like a child being told not to touch.  

Quistis ignored the pins, looked up at him through tangled strands of yellow hair and put one hand on his side, sliding her palms down under his shirt. Seifer groaned.

"What about the..uhnnn…monsters?"

Quistis moved her other hand to the hem of his top and worked both hands up, hoping that what she was about to say was true. "It'll be all right. They don't normally come near draw points…..not really near, anyway."

Seifer placed both hands flat to the bark of the tree, one on either side of her head.  He moved in close and kissed her hair. "Do you want to?" 

"Do I want to what?" Quistis said, slightly puzzled.  She thought she heard a faint crack and mourned the loss of her hairpins. Seifer had his good points, but he was hard on the possessions of others.    

The professional part of her mind, as usual, seemed to have taken a quick vacation. She shook her head and ran one hand up into her hair, twisting the loose locks back into a messy bun until Seifer pulled her wrist away and the heavy weight fell round her shoulders again.

"Come near a ..ohh, never mind.."

Quistis mentally rewound the conversation, and groaned. "No-one here."

"Good." Seifer peeled her right glove off and threw it over his shoulder, followed swiftly by the left one.

"We can go back to my-" Quistis said.  She took his hand from the metal tag of her zip and placed it firmly, though not without regret, onto the bark of the tree behind her.

"No. Here."

She gave it a second, half-hearted try. "It'll be more comfortab…..oh. Ohhh."

"Mmmm?"

"Forget it."

By the time he'd figured out how to undo the tiny, near-invisible clasps of her shirt she'd forgotten about the flower-scent and the heat and the rough bark of the tree behind her and nearly everything else except the blond-haired man who was kissing her and the stars gleaming overhead and she was fast forgetting about them as well.

Seifer buried his head in her neck and whispered surprisingly gentle words that washed over both of them, hands busy with the zip of her jeans.  His eyes were closed against her skin, she could feel the tiny scratching of his eyelashes.  Never one to let her own guard down, Quistis let her own eyes slide shut as well.  

Shortly it stopped mattering that it was pitch dark and that neither of them could see a thing.  Touch took the place of sight and never stopped to apologise.  

Some time later the busy silence was broken by one comment.

"I'll never….nnnnuh….get my boots off.."

"Keep them on."

"You want?"

"Hyne, _yeah_."

Some time later, Quistis lay on her back staring up at the stars while Seifer lit another cigarette. A faint wind, scented with salt and iodine, blew the grass in tiny waves that lapped gently around her body.  They tickled faintly in a small and pleasant way that almost made up for the fact that her legs were cold and she had a cramp in the small of her back.  She ran a hand across her chin and then sighed as her palm caught against rough, slightly sore skin.

_I'm so going to have stubble rash in the morning._

Also, she was pretty sure she'd broken a nail in Seifer's belt.

The harsh, artificial scent of nicotine and burning paper drifted over to her from where Seifer was lying in the grass.

After their first rather al fresco coupling practicalities such as insects, the possibility of inconvenient monster attack and the rather slim chance of other wanderers had taken sudden priority, with the result that they were both almost fully clothed but with rather more bug bites that they'd started out with..

Quistis let her breath out in a long sigh and watched the dim orange lights of fireflies rise up from the grass like the ghosts of trodden ants. There was a harsh sound from some other kind of insect hiding off in the trees as the night buzzed with life around them.  

She scratched a mosquito bite and said. "Let's go."

Seifer stretched, his voice lazy. "Why? S' not late."

"It is for me. I have to get ready for the mission. I've got stuff to pack. Things to do. You know how it is."

"I thought you were coming back to mine?" His voice sharpened in the blurry half-dark as Quistis' hands sought for her hairpins. 

"I don't think that's really appropriate, do you?"

"There's nothing appropriate about this whole thing, but that didn't stop it happening."

"Maybe it shouldn't have….." One pin. Two pins. Forget the last one, it could stay. She stabbed them home into her hair and felt bits of crushed leaves tickle her neck.

Seifer rolled over, sat up and zipped up his fly. "Look me in the eye and tell me that's what you really fucking think."

Quistis lay back in the grass, suddenly reluctant to sit up and face the facts. She didn't particularly want to have a conversation with Seifer about a topic she hadn't even got sorted out in her own head, but it looked as if there was no other option. "I don't know what I think any more….and I don't like it. It's just a mission. You can't expect me to put my life on hold just because.."

"Because I'm a wanted criminal?"

 "I didn't want this." She didn't know what she was referring to. No-strings attached sex was one thing, but it had always been ultimately too meaningless and unfulfilling for her liking.  She hadn't quite envisaged the number of obstacles that her relationship with Seifer possessed, number one being the fact that he didn't officially exist and number two being the fact that it was probably a good thing for him that he didn't.

 And on top of that, she had a nasty feeling that his opinions were different, and that she was very soon going to hear them.    

Seifer didn't turn to look down at her. He sat in the deep grass a few centimetres away, arms clasped loosely around his knees. "You didn't want what? You don't want to be here now? I think you're lying." He took a deep drag on his cigarette. "You sure sounded like it, five minutes ago."

"Seifer, that was uncalled for." Quistis hiked her top up, exposing slightly less cleavage.

"Admit it, you're having fun, and you don't know how to cope. Shit, I bet sleeping with me's probably the only unprofessional thing you've done in your entire life…."

"The sleeping's not a problem. It's just while we're awake. Things are complicated."

"So rise to the challenge."

His comment needled Quistis's finely developed sense of efficiency. "Are you that desperate to be remembered? Because even if you spend the rest of your life saving whales, you'll still be the guy who tried to take over the world."

Seifer glanced at her incredulously. "Am I _what_?" The pale light of the draw point bleached his tanned skin and made his face look abnormally pale. 

"Or are you just jealous I've got somewhere to go back to?" Quistis said, trying to talk through the situation in her own head. "You, on the other hand, have no friends, no job, no money, and no chance of things improving. Of course, you've also got a self-preservation instinct the size of Esthar City, so you won't crash and burn completely."

Seifer's expression looked as if he was trying hard not to smile, and that he was not quite sure as to whether that was a good or a bad thing

Quistis internally groaned. She asked "Did I say that out loud?"

"Hell yeah. I'm taking it as a compliment, -at least you're finally trusting me to take care of myself."   

Quistis narrowed her eyes and ignored the sarcasm, rubbing the tiny dents each side of her nose where her glasses rested. "I'm just trying to make my mind up."

_Without losing this argument_, she could have said, but didn't.

_Without making you think you're easily forgettable or disposable –being left like a cheap plastic toothbrush in a hotel room's got to suck_

_Without offending you so badly that I spend the next five years of my life fearing revenge attacks…_

_Without letting Garden down_

_My head hurts. I never thought it could be so hard trying to do the right thing_

Quistis could feel the skin bunching up between her brows. She suddenly realised that she was scowling ferociously into the darkness whilst trying to make her decisions. 

Seifer absent-mindedly passed his cigarette to her and flopped back down into the grass. "Maybe you should think less."

Quistis handed the smoke back, a miniature peace-pipe. "Maybe you should think more..Seifer, this can't go on."  She rolled over to face him, shifting as stones jabbed into her hipbone. Her knee brushed his thigh.  

Seifer raised himself up on his elbows, keeping the hand holding his cigarette an inch from his lips.  "Damn right it can't.     But you're only seeing one way out."

"There is only one way out." _I go, I come back, we sort it…_

He reached out and ran his hand over the curve of waist and hip. "Stay here." 

Quistis looked him straight in the eye and pressed one hand to her temple, drawing circles in the earth with her free hand. "You know I can't."

"I know you won't. I know you well. Scared?"

"Yeah." Her tone of voice said _not at all_. " But I'll be fine, once I'm away on the mission." 

"You'd be better with me at your back." Seifer said reflectively. He cupped his cigarette in his hand and took one last drag, holding his breath as the embers of the smoke smouldered out.

"That's not going to happen, and I know you know why." Quistis wished she had her bag, just so she could have taken out a Post-It note, written 'I'm going on a mission, but I'LL BE RIGHT BACK' on it in lemon-yellow highlighter, and then sticky-taped it to Seifer's forehead in lieu of conversation.

"You might need help if you get into trouble."

Quistis considered retorting that the chances of her encountering trouble were minimised incredibly by Seifer staying in Hana, but decided against it. "They'll catch you."

"They won't."

"They will. And then you'll be in prison or executed and I'll be out of a job." Quistis ticked the options off on her fingers, absently cleaning her nails with her other hand. She scanned the surroundings for monsters, absently, but heard nothing.

Seifer flicked the butt of his last cigarette off into the grass, reached for another and then seemed to realise that their bags were the other side of a tall fence and a monster-infested forest. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Hit me." Quistis realised moments later that her comment had been a mistake, but luckily Seifer didn't take her too literally.

"Which'd be more important?"

"Which what?" She noticed  that there were leaves in Seifer's hair, too.

"To you. Losing your job, or me?"

Quistis worked her hand towards Seifer's head, waited a moment to consider the question as he recoiled slightly and said, crossly. "You've got stuff in your hair."

Seifer leant his neck back, hesitated almost imperceptibly and then relented as she worked her arm closer. "Answer the question." 

 "I don't know, I've had my job for seven years now…." 

Quistis's hand touched the front part of Seifer's hair. He crooked his head awkwardly round to allow her to comb the leaves out with her fingers, looked sideways at her through narrowed eyes and said

"You've known me for seventeen"

She concentrated on combing "Yeah, but I only liked you for..uh, less than one. And I'm not even sure about that." His hair was bristly and short under her hands as she brushed away twigs, the hastily-shaved remnants of a two-day beard rough against her wrist. The overpowering scent of crushed vegetation, heat and ocean breeze made it hard for her to detect his normal scent of cigarettes, oil, some kind of cheap soap and musk.  Quistis was surprised to find that she missed it.  

Seifer captured her hand, pinning it against the hot earth as Quistis gave him a critical glare. "Me neither."

She decided to go for the simple approach. "Stay. Please."

"You ordering me?" Seifer let go of her wrist and placed his hand on her hip.

Quistis covered it with her own. "Did that sound like an order? I'm asking you. Nicely." Force wasn't going to work, so the only option left was persuasion, and that was going to be a long shot if she'd ever seen one. 

"I'll think about it."

"For how long? I don't care how good the sex was, I'm getting on that train alone."

He grinned sharply. "So it's okay if I meet you there. "

"No! Hyne's sake, Seifer, don't you listen?"

"Not when I don't like what I'm hearing."

Quistis cast desperately around in her mind for a way to persuade him. "Do you always have to follow someone?" She started him right in the face, noticing abstractly that there was a tiny scar over his right eyebrow that cleaved the very tip in half. It looked kind of cute, like abbreviated facial hair, but then she was starting to find lots of little things about Seifer cute.

This, predictably, worried her more that a little. Just another reason for her to go on the mission.

Seifer's eyebrows drew together in a flat line, proving definitively that they were not cute. "Do I what?"

"Do. You .Always. Have…." 

"I heard. You're a hard woman to please."

"How would you know?"

"You want another demonstration? I mean, it's a bit soon, but.."

"You're still not coming to Velalisier."

"He muttered something that might have been "Okay, then" Quistis moved closer.

"Say that again."

Seifer pulled her to him. "Okay then."

"You're not coming?" Quistis flung a leg over his hips.

"No."

"You're not crossing your fingers?" 

"No. Leave it. I might change my mind, and we've" he leaned forwards, and kissed her, "got better things to do."  

Time passed.

Thankfully the comment Quistis had made earlier about monsters not being found in the immediate vicinity of a draw point turned out to be true. After all, it wasn't until they left the clearing, both slightly unorganised and no doubt smelling of sex and sweat, that the first T-Rexaur attacked.

They got back to the hotel at four a.m. still in one piece but slightly bruised, both extremely tired and in no condition to argue further. To her slight surprise, Quistis went to the train station the next morning alone.  She didn't allow herself to relax until the train was at least thirty miles down the track and there was still no sign of Seifer, but it wasn't until she'd read the extra files that Squall had sent to her laptop, enjoyed the mid-journey drinks (non-alcoholic, of course) that the train service provided to all SeeDs, free of charge, and scanned through her mission statement for the fifth time that she remembered that she'd never junctioned the Fire magic from him.

_Big mistake.___

Hey, everyone …and thanks for the reviews. I was going to offer a ficbit for the first person who got me to two hundred, but owing to my current situation( i.e. volunteering 8.30-6 over my Easter vacation as part of my course and revising for exams) as well as keeping SDTC going, I don't think I'll be able to. People are welcome to suggest topics and who knows, maybe I'll get round to it, but well, I dunno.

Again, liberties have been taken with GFs and junctioning for story reasons.

Mood: stressed

Anyway…

Amber Tinted: You're right-Quistis will never kill Seifer. After all a hell of a lot of people have tried and been unsuccessful, and offing one of your protagonists in a romance does tend to make the relationship a little onanistic.

Breaker-one: I have a strategy guide, but I only just got it. I'm currently at the bit in the game when you have to fight Ultima Weapon for GF Eden. You find Marlboros in the Grandidi Forest north of the Esthar plains( you can only get there with Ragnarok), but you have to fight pretty much everything else to get one, and once you've found one of the buggers, it'll incapacitate all of your characters with its breath attack and then kill you. Hence my failure to upgrade all my main characters' weapons. Damn them all.

DisturbedVenus: We aim to please :D

Ghost140: * eats half a cupcake* OK, I was on a virtual candy Lent, anyway.

Kjata: I hope that you enjoyed the links.  I more or less copied all of my favourites out, because I like sharing and I like people to like what I like. Like, ya know.  

Mana Angel; I've never played FF7 or 10(I just have a PS1) As for the innuendo-it's MUCH more effective to leave stuff to the imagination. Plus a whole lot easier.

Melete: Yeah, so any hormone-driven female would happily chuck in a lucrative career to go with the blond haired sex god all us fangirls know and love, this IS Quistis.

Nynaeve77: Lots of people said Seifer was being very sweet. I put it down to him not actually doing anything nasty in the chapter. Maybe this is because most of it was from Quistis's POV. I'm sure he was off kicking kittens or something while she was busy reading files on the roof.

Quistis88: About the fic-it will continue to update biweekly come hell, exams, social life or minor Acts Of God.  I'm hoping that the current plotline will wind up in mid-July, as I won't have a computer from then until September. Hopefully there will then be another sequel (damn those trilogies) in September which will probably be shorter, as we're entering a more intense part of our course.

Shorty38: I write the kind of fics I like to read: basically multichaptered character driven stories with more than a little blood, description and violence. So there you go.

Sickness In Salvation: Ta..and yes, Selphie really does have her mind in the gutter. I didn't plan it that way-it just happened.

Sulou: Thanks! Will Seifer let Quistis go far without tagging along? Um, what do you think?

Verdanni: Wow. Guess who gets the Most Reviews award for this chapter? No, that's good:D

Kate

(blood sugar sex majik) 


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Miss You Most

Chapter Fifteen: Miss You More

So alone tonight, miss you more

Than I will let you know.

Miss the outline of your back, miss you breathing down my neck

They're all out to get you.

Once again, they're all out to get you.

Here they come again..

James: Out To Get You.

The kettle whined irritably. Its red warning light ignited for a second and then winked out into oblivion. Seifer listened hopefully for the sound of boiling water and then stopped bothering after thirty seconds as boredom set in.

It was official. His kettle was now deceased, the latest casualty on a slowly growing obituary of almost all his household implements. 

The air-conditioner had been the first to go, and _that_ had been on its last legs since he'd moved in. Certainly it hadn't bothered Seifer much, because he liked the heat. The toaster had followed his air-con into oblivion the third post-sex morning, billowing clouds of black ashy smoke right into Quistis's face when she switched it on for a light breakfast.  Its demise had bothered Seifer even less, because there was always the grill and failing that, takeaways. 

It had annoyed Quistis considerably more. She was into toast, apparently.

She had suggested that he contact his landlord, and had even offered to type a sniffy letter for him, on her computer. Seifer had declined the favour because any conversation with his landlord, a small and largely inoffensive man, was bound to turn towards to the topic of four weeks unpaid back rent like a magnet to iron filings.  As far as he was concerned, the less his landlord thought about him the better. 

At least until he could find another job.

Seifer placed his elbows on the scarred and pitted kitchen worktop and lowered his head, staring ferociously at the kettle as if a threat could somehow resurrect its electronic innards. Unsurprisingly, it still refused to work.

He tapped its side, encouragingly. 

The kettle still failed to boil.   

Seifer mashed the coffee granules into powdery caffeinated dust at the bottom of his mug in frustration.  

He thought sourly that it was a good job Quistis was away, after all. She had a medical need for coffee. They should get Odine to invent a new implant or something that drip-fed caffeine straight under your skin especially for her, like a cyborg super-soldier. Twitching and lack of sleep might be a problem, he supposed, but surely with some R & D the problem could soon be sorted out. 

It was all Quistis's fault, Seifer decided. The malfunctioning kettle, and, quite possibly, the world. Her eight-cups-a-day caffeine dependency had obviously been the straw that broke the chocobo's back. 

Sighing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a battered packet of Lucky Strikes, flicking one cigarette out and slotting it behind his ear while he searched in the cutlery drawer for matches. His fingers automatically registered the presence of all three of his Sabatier emergency knives and a whole load of bargain-basement cheap cutlery before he found a tiny cardboard box.

_Matches, matches… Now to see if the gas burner works._

To Seifer's surprise, it did. He ignited the ancient stove-top cooker and snapped the match out with a flick of his wrist before it burned down to his fingers. Intending to pick another match to light his cigarette, he slid the box drawer out with his thumb, and then hesitated, remembering the events of the previous night.

_We went to the beach so Quistis could junction…and then she was going to draw off me…did I give her the spells back?_

One hand on the enamel stove-top, Seifer closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching into the part of his mind where he'd always kept his battle magic.

Junctioning was among the first technique Garden taught to new cadets. How to summon magic and how to keep the spells you found ready in case they were needed in a hurry. There had been some kind of ten-step protocol they'd all had to painstakingly memorise as teenagers, but Seifer had long ago forgotten it and just went with whatever worked.     

He held his left hand -his casting hand, chosen so he could still use Hyperion if anything went wrong with a spell – up to his face. After some consideration, he moved away from the cooker and extended his arm straight out in front of him. Wrist and palm turned upwards, Seifer _reached_, and frowned.

It was much easier to cast a spell you'd just drawn than to use stored magic, and he was badly out of practice. There was a faint presence in his skull, pulsing just behind one temple. It felt much weaker that he seemed to remember. He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear with his right hand, and touched the tip to the palm of his left. 

And then suddenly, like a rusty machine gathering momentum, the spell caught.

There was a sweet taste in Seifer's mouth and a faint green glow in the air around him.  The light lasted for all of three seconds before the magic ignited in his mind and came rushing down his veins towards his left hand like a runaway locomotive. 

Seifer's head snapped back as a three-foot ball of flame blossomed in his palm. He cursed and snatched his right hand back as the cigarette held loosely between two fingers burned to ash within a second. 

The spell was surrounded by the nebulous turquoise haze of magic, a faint scent of ozone and, suddenly, the smell of burning enamel as Seifer reflexively stretched his arm out further away from his face and the fire came too close to the cooker. 

_Shit._

There was some gesture to reduce the fire to a more manageable size, but Seifer couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.  In a combat situation, things were always much easier. 

Less time to think, for one thing. 

Firing a spell towards your opponent required absolutely no finesse or technique other than acting as a conduit, some kind of vaguely sentient fire-hose. You didn't have to _hold_ the stuff. 

Seifer fought to keep control while the fire roared greedily.  His left palm felt warm underneath the fiery globe but he was proving surprisingly fire-retardant.

_That'll come in handy when they start lighting the flaming torches…_

So far he was resisting the growing temptation to set alight to the curtains, but it was only a matter of time. The carpet sizzled in a circle around him and there was a strong smell of burnt hair. The magic ate at his mind, trying to get him to lose focus.  Luckily for the upholstery, Seifer was nothing if not bloody minded.

_Thank Hyne the fire alarm's broken as well. I'd have a hell of a job trying to explain this away…_

He considered firing the spell out of the window and pretending it was ball lightning or freak weather conditions and then more pragmatically turned the cold tap on with his free arm. His palm left a faint print of condensation behind on the damp chrome as Seifer juggled the fiery orange of flame with his other hand. He offered a fervent prayer to Hyne, balled his palm into a white-knuckled fist and shoved it underneath the water.  

There was s sudden hiss, and a smell of smoke.

For a second Seifer could have sworn that the flame continued burning underwater like liquid phosphorous. And then the magic left his mind, leaving nothing except a feeling of emptiness and a faint sweet taste on his tongue.

Seifer took his hand cautiously out from under the cold tap and examined the skin of his palm. It was unmarked.

_List of things to do while Quistis's away. Practice._

 Seifer had always much preferred physical combat to sorcery, and he was beginning to remember why. The worst accident you could have with a sword was to stab yourself.

In his eyes, magic was useful for two reasons. Firstly, to protect those who were too weak to wield weapons effectively. Secondly, for healing spells, but he'd always harboured the sneaking feeling that anyone who was really good probably wouldn't go getting injured in the first place. 

Seifer brushed ash from the cooker onto the carpet and considered his next move. The magic smouldered gently at the back of his mind, stronger than before as he noticed that the packet of cigarettes resting on top of the cooker had somehow escaped unscathed.

Seifer cautiously took one out and placed it, unlit, between his lips. He could have got a spark with the gas ring, but he'd never been one to walk away from a challenge.  

_Second time lucky…_

In the end it took Seifer four Firas, thirty minutes and three cigarettes to successfully light one smoke. The flat had escaped relatively unscathed, judging by Seifer's quasi-military standards, which registered anything with four walls, all the glass still in the windows and an intact ceiling _and_ floor as 'habitable.' There were black scorch marks in the ceiling and decorating the plaster of the nearest wall. Some of the enamel from the stovetop had melted and dripped onto the floor, leaving small holes in the carpet and scorching perfectly round rings into the splintered floorboards underneath. The air was superheated and so dry that it stuck Seifer's tongue to the roof of his mouth, making it almost impossible to actually take a drag on his newly-lit cigarette. 

Swearing, he opened the window and sat on the sill, feeling the hot air rush past him to the outside world as it was replaced with marginally less warm air from outside. Street sounds drifted up from below-mechanical music, and holiday noises. 

Seifer ignored them all, glancing once up and down the dusty street just to make sure nobody had actually called the police. Still faintly surprised that his practising had worked. 

He'd finally managed to quench the last Fira himself, rather than waiting for it to burn out by itself, firing it at something or sticking his hand under the cold tap, and he'd done it with only fairly mild, first degree burns, too. More importantly, the rhythms of casting were beginning to come back to him after nearly two years of wilful ignorance. Seifer was good at forgetting things, mainly commands beginning with 'Don't'- but he'd always picked up practical techniques surprisingly well. The rusty machine that was his junctioning technique was clanking reluctantly back into life after a little mental oiling 

There were still three spells locked inside his head, saved for future cigarettes. Now that he'd practiced, they were instantly obvious as soon as he stopped refusing to remember them. They whispered gently along his synapses, bouncing off the bones of his skull. Seifer shivered, suddenly remembering Edea, and firmly quenched the magic with thoughts of water. 

He cursed the loss of his lighter the previous night.  

Looking back, it wasn't surprising that he hadn't been able to find the contents of his pockets after last evening's performance.  It had been late, and quite dark. The gentle light of the draw point had proved almost useless for searching and neither Seifer nor Quistis had been looking where everything got to. After all, it had taken both of them a good five minutes to find Quistis's bra, and that was _white_. No chance at all for a small plastic lighter.

Seifer cast his mind back and grinned. 

It would have been perfect, if it hadn't been for the insects, and the T-Rexaurs. Twelve-feet high giant dinosaurs tended to screw up romance big-time. 

He also had a nagging feeling that maybe the night had been pity sex on Quistis's part, some kind of consolation prize for losing their argument. 

Seifer got down from the sill, leaving the window open. Before he walked away he ran a cautious hand along the tiles above the choked dry gutter to check that Hyperion was still there, wedged in place by gravity and a few judicious bootlaces. 

It was.

Seifer flopped back onto his mattress and reached under the table for a book. As he pulled his chosen text out a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Seifer dropped his book and caught the paper one-handed, moving one leg to avoid the cascade of books, some of them quite sharp and pointy, that followed. 

It had some writing on it, in a familiar hand.

_ Seifer-_

_Do you know these books are really overdue?Take them back._

_Q._

_Ps. Have you quit smoking yet?_

It shouldn't really have surprised him, but it did.  Seifer would never have thought of leaving notes to someone who he saw every day.  What was the point when you could just find the person and tell them? Exclamation points didn't readily substitute well for grievous bodily harm. 

One the other hand, Quistis _was_ the kind of person who wrote notes. She was even the kind of person who would go through all your library books and copy carefully the due-back date for each. They were listed neatly, in date order, on the other side of the note, with a coded system of exclamation marks to indicate the fine owing. She'd even spelled the scientific titles right.

Seifer groaned.

It was scary how neatly his life had divided itself into BQ, Before Quistis, and AQ, After Quistis. The Before part featured considerably less shaving, and more cans of baked beans. The After section had large amounts of sex. 

On reflection, it was an equation he could live with. 

A quick check inside the flyleaf of the nearest book revealed that Quistis was right, as always.  Seifer was briefly puzzled why the letterbox hadn't jammed up with overdue library notices until he remembered that he'd given a false address, out of habit.  He checked the calendar, did a quick calculation in his head and worked out that by now his library fines totalled approximately one week's worth of the wages he wasn't getting.

_I really should take them back._

Common sense warred with Seifer's natural determination to do exactly the opposite of what Quistis said.  

Eventually he came to a kind of compromise.  He would go though all the books, and write any essential facts down just in case he needed them, for example, in a trial. And then, only then, he'd return them. 

Seifer had the same problem with books at Garden, and for much the same reason; he never made time to read, so by the time he actually got halfway through a book it would inevitably be overdue. He'd renew it, forget to read it, forget he had it until the first warning showed up on his email account, and then suddenly remember why the hell he'd got it in the first place and claim some kind of special studying rule so he could keep it.  

By the time he'd reached his last year, the librarian had mostly given up bothering him for fines, and he'd had several boxes of dog-eared books under his bed waiting for a library amnesty. The posse had been planning a celebratory bonfire on graduation day, but with one thing and another, they'd never got that far.

Seifer wondered idly if they'd found the books, eventually.

He picked up the nearest one and turned to the first marked page, ripping the fragment of cigarette packet out that served as a bookmark and throwing it in the general direction of the bin.

After five minutes he got up and took a beer from the fridge. Alternating swallows of beer with flipping pages, he scrawled misspelled notes on the back of a photocopied article with a stolen highlighter that had once belonged to Quistis. His handwriting was messy and round, the script of someone who was out of practice.

_Sorceress + Knight = a sychological bond of unusual intensity._

_Meaning?????_

_Broken by- death, repossesion and = severe psichological disturbance, loss of normal function._

(underlined several times)

 and so forth.

Seifer reached the end of the sheet , frowned, crossed it out, and started again on another sheet of paper, got half way down, crossed the writing out, stared at the paper, wrote three lines, crossed it out and then wrote one sentence, slowly, in capital letters.

SORCERESS + TIME COMPRESSION = SCREWED

He scribbled the last sentence out, and replaced it with two words, the distilled wisdom of a dozen books and four scarily scientific articles.

TOTALLY SCREWED.

He underlined it three times, stared at it for a minute, rolled the paper up into a ball and threw it out of the window.

Quistis hadn't said much about Edea but he could guess the state she was in.  Shit, it had taken him the best part of twelve months just to get his head together, and the sudden appearance of his face on wanted posters had had a lot to do with _that_. 

_Time compression has to fuck with your mind. _

Seifer wondered vaguely if Edea had nightmares too, tried not to think about it before he started regretting not returning to Balamb, told himself not to think about Edea and went back to what he'd been doing before he picked up the books, which was trying not to think about Quistis.

It was four p.m, which meant she would be at the negotiating table now. Wherever _that_ was.  Busy doing…

_Doing…_

Negotiating, probably, and probably looking over her shoulder every five minutes just in case he decided to show up.  

Seifer discarded that mental image. Quistis probably had enough sense to work out that he'd never known, exactly, where she was going.  Oh, sure, he knew what town, but towns had lots of buildings, and a limited amount of time in which to search them, plus a lot of people to threaten before you chanced upon anyone useful. 

Seifer didn't exactly rule out the possibility of getting to Velalisier if he needed to but, well. 

_It'd be hard.  _

_Quistis can cope by herself, anyway._

_Quistis.___

His train of thought ran back to her every time, like a one-track toy trainset.

Quistis, of the seventeen invisible freckles, who'd built castles in the sand when they were both seven and then slapped Seifer when he'd knocked them down.

He'd made a stupid adolescent comment to try to get her attention his first day in Garden.  In hindsight, it had been a big mistake. He'd been feeling a little more small, lost and scared that he liked to admit. So when they'd met accidentally in the corridors, and Quistis had walked right by without saying a word, Seifer had come to the conclusion that maybe he wasn't important enough to remember. 

The thought had stung. So he'd said something smart.

The _old _Quistis would have slapped him round the head again. 

The _new_ Quistis had looked at him coldy through thick spectacles and replied "Do you think that I'm some kind of nerdy library girl or something? That I wear glasses on a chain and shirts buttoned all the way up and I read all these obscure artsy books and I'm some repressed horny animal just waiting for you to come along and set me free?"  

_Ouch._

It had taken Seifer aback for all of three seconds before his ego took over and said something flip and hard about how he couldn't help it if she was a frigid bitch. Quistis had automatically responded by sentencing him to detention, which Seifer had failed to attend, setting the stage for an extended campaign of rivalry and insults that lasted over two years.  

Looking back, Seifer couldn't really blame her, but the memory of that first insult still stung.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, regarded the stump for a minute and then stubbed it out in the carpet, which smoked.  Some of the people he'd briefly met in Marduk had invented a way of impaling hand-rolled cigarettes on a pin, to tease out the last bit of nicotine, but Seifer wasn't that desperate.  Yet.

He flicked the butt into a corner and considered lighting another one but decided against it, piling books into a stack instead. Money was getting scarce, and when you got right down to it, chainsmoking wasn't actually essential for life. 

Kind of the opposite, if you thought about it.

But Quistis hated it. And no matter how much he liked being with Quistis, that didn't mean he was averse to pissing her off now and again.

_I hate the way cigarette smoke smells_, she'd said.  _And think about what it must be doing to your lungs._

The last comment was typical of Quistis, who spent a good portion of her life planning her future. The only plan Seifer had about his life a decade from now was the vague idea that it might be nice if he had one. 

He finished stacking the books and sat back on the mattress, regarding his faintly yellow-stained fingertips against the almost-white sheets and thinking that living on coffee and nicotine and food that came wrapped in greaseproof paper wasn't exactly the healthiest lifestyle ever.

Never one to do things by halves, Seifer smoked like it was going out of fashion. And he smoked for many reasons

One, because it annoyed Quistis.

Two, smoking wasn't really socially acceptable any more.  This fitted right in with Seifer's oft-repeated aim to piss of the maximum amount of people in the minimum amount of time

The third reason, and perhaps the most important, was because it gave him something to do with his hands. 

Seifer sighed and got up, absently rubbing a smear of charcoal off the peeling walls and transferring it to his faded T-shirt, where it stuck unnoticed. He dragged a large black rucksack out from behind the rail that he used as a wardrobe and started stuffing books into it a way that would have made any true librarian commit murder in their mind.

A casual observer might have wondered about the oblong dark patches left on the canvas in places, as if something had been sewn there and then peeled away.  A casual and informed observer might have commented that the missing patches had exactly the same size, location and shape as the embroidered SeeD insignia that Balamb Garden used on their equipment. A casual and informed observer whose name was Quistis Trepe would have asked for her rucksack back, plus a couple of hundred Gil to replace the frayed straps and patch over the odd hole.

Seifer had acquired the bag in Trabia more by luck than accident and had kept it ever since. 

When he'd finished stuffing books into the gaping mouth of the rucksack he shouldered it to test the weight and grinned as the bag held, straps creaking indignantly. Seifer dropped it on the floor with a thud, where it lay like a pregnant slug. 

He gathered the remaining four or five photocopies together and whispered a few words of magic, summoning another grape-fruit-sized ball of flame into the palm of one cupped hand.  The fire glowed out through the cracks between his fingers as he fed the articles in one by one. Their paper curled rapidly and crisped black, releasing surprisingly large amounts of smoke. 

Seifer held the fire in one hand and watched the texts smoulder, checking the shelves of his fishbox bookshelf just to make sure he hadn't missed any.  His fingers lingered on a well-thumbed copy of Cops without Tops for a second before he turned back to his pyromancy, dismissing the flame with a word.  

_Nah.__ Have some control. She'll be back soon._

Seifer's subconscious chose this precise moment to pipe up in a question.

_How long?_

_One day wasn't it? She didn't say, but it can't be long. _

_She'll be back tomorrow._

Seifer got up from the mattress and shouldered his bag. Leaving the ash on the carpet, he made his way through hot, dusty streets to the library, where he unloaded his books to a small and surprised librarian. She picked through the pile carefully, as if conducting an autopsy, and raised one thin and perfectly-plucked eyebrow at him.

"These are several weeks overdue. I'm afraid there's a rather large fine." 

"I haven't got my money with me at the moment, Seifer lied. "Can I pay you later?"

She looked up at him over the rims of bottle-cap glasses. "I suppose that would be acceptable, yes."

Seifer picked his bag off the floor and gave her a grin. "Fine. See ya."

The librarian started to say something, but Seifer was out the door before she finished her sentence.

Outside, it was a comfortable warm summer evening.  A few weary tourists and vendors still haunted the streets, casting long shadows over the littered pavements.  Foreign languages drifted from the seaside shops as Seifer walked by, comfortable in the anonymity of the tourist town's ever-changing population. He moved into the shadows automatically as he passed the shops and told himself it was only the heat.

Normal people, doing normal things, blissfully free from monsters and invasions, kept that way (at least partly) by SeeD.  The coast of Southern Trabia had experienced a small population explosion since Esthar's barriers lifted. Small fishing towns like Hana, whose chief exports had been fish and people running off to the cities to find a new life, or at least a better one, had turned with magical speed into tourist traps for holidaymakers enjoying the relative peace and freedom of transport that the new age offered.

Seifer stepped over a longhaired man playing a mournful version of 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' on a set of pan pipes and continued home. 

The road stretched out before him, dusty and hot, studded with people and winding round shops and houses, joining and merging and spreading with other roads and streets in a blissful network of communication.

He could walk, be on a train within two hours and wake up on a whole different continent. But somehow Seifer knew he wouldn't do that.

Quistis would be back tomorrow.

Quistis, with her coffee addiction and flyaway hair and the little cranky hamster noises she made before she'd had her first cup of coffee.  

His Quistis.

The crowds thinned around him as Seifer made his way out of the tourist areas, heading home.  

Back at the flat, he was suddenly, painfully aware that he had nothing to do.  He couldn't remember what he'd found to fill his time before Quistis had come, but surely there had been something?

Anything?

Eventually Seifer took down Hyperion from its hiding place in the roof and began some training exercises.  His muscles ached from the previous night's battles, cramping easily as he moved through warm-up exercises to loosen joints and tendons.

By the time he actually picked the sword up it was full dark, a chorus of crickets drifting through the open windows. Lifting, cutting, hands slightly apart on the warm metal handle of the gunblade as his surroundings slowly lost colour unnoticed.

He was half-way through a particularly intricate movement which involved slicing the blade up to waist-height and slashing vertically down, only to arrest its movement some twelve inches above the floor. He had just twisted his hands on the hilt to cut the sword through a horizontal slice, when there was unexpected resistance, and a soft _thunk_ noise.

Seifer blinked and came back to full awareness as he registered two things in quick succession.  One, it was dark.  

Two, he'd just cut one leg from his only chair  

It brought the training to an abrupt end while Seifer searched for duct tape, turned out all his drawers and cupboards looking for duct tape, went out looking for duct tape to buy and then came back and tried to mend the chair with parcel tape, cursing all early-closing hardware stores. 

After that, swordwork was pretty much out.  Seifer stashed Hyperion back up under the eaves and switched to playing Patience with a dog-eared pack of Triple Triad cards. It wasn't a particularly good pack, but then he'd never had much time for card games.

And he sure as hell didn't have any time for patience.

He stayed awake for as long as he possibly could but some time in the early morning sleep found him.

He was woken by a noise.

A loud, repeated noise.

Seifer rolled over, cursed as he realised that he was hugging his pillow and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a faint sense of déjà vu.

Someone was knocking, loudly, on his front door.

Seifer swore and threw the pillow across the room. Dragging his knees up to his chest, he searched for cigarettes and cupped his hands to strike a light, inhaling deeply.

The knocking kept on. Seifer checked the clock. Midday. 

"Quistis? That you?"

No answer.

 The bangs continued.

"Okay, okay, keep your knickers on." Seifer grabbed for jeans, running a hand through his cropped hair. He bent nearly double as a bout of coughing racked him, forcing him to spit his cigarette out on the floor. 

_Got to quit.___

 The carpet sucked greedily at Seifer's bare feet as he retrieved the cigarettes for the floor and replaced in his mouth. Pulling a T-shirt on over his head, he crossed the room, bumping painfully into the table before his hand found the doorknob. He unlocked the door and dragged it open.

"Quistis?"

It wasn't.

The two people standing in the shade of his porch were much less welcome.

They weren't nearly as pretty as Quistis, for starters, and they were also the wrong sex. 

The taller of the pair took a step forwards as Seifer answered the door, casually sliding one booted foot into the room. His partner slouched against the railing, chewing on a toothpick.

They both wore the navy blue shorts and shirts of the local police department. Seifer decided they weren't armed, and it was only the fact that both men looked far too inexperienced and ill-equipped to have anything to do with SeeD or homicide that prevented him from slamming the door in both their faces. 

The closest man spoke first.  He looked about forty, slightly shorter that Seifer, and there were crumbs on the collar of his shirt. "David Matthews?"

"Who wants to know?"

"We'd like to invite you to attend the station to help us sort out a few little matters that have recently been brought to our attention."

"You what?" 

"You're wanted for questioning." the younger policeman said nervously from the porch. He was older than Seifer, pushing thirty, with a neat side-parting, and terribly well-groomed in a keen kind of way.  The toothpick bobbed restlessly, held in the corner of his mouth.

"What for?" Seifer asked. He backed up a step, moving closer to the kitchen drawer that held his knives, his eyes flicking towards the open window.  

A number of possibilities ran through his mind, one after another, maybe they'd finally caught up with him, a fatalistic thought that was almost a relief.  Or maybe his offence was something more prosaic: missing rent, the fight with Lou four days ago, even the things he'd done in Marduk…So many offences, so little time. 

Or maybe it wasn't about him at all…

The older policeman marked Seifer's retreat and took one step forwards while his colleague stood on the creaking landing outside and sweated. He rested one elbow on the doorframe and glanced round the room, eyes taking in the surroundings, and said calmly "If you would like to accompany us to the station, I'm sure we can get this sorted out as soon a possible." His voice was reassuring, gaze steady.

"Are you _arresting_ me?" Seifer asked, trying very hard not to swear. He forced himself to relax, painfully aware that his muscles had tensed automatically, weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet in a fighting stance.

He wondered what they'd do if he slammed the door in their faces _now_. 

This time it was the policeman who stepped back. His boots clumped to rest with a hollow sound back onto the creaking balcony outside, though he kept his elbow resting on the doorframe. "No."

"So what the hell is this about?"

The older policeman sighed "Like I said, we'd appreciate some help with our inquiries. Tell him, Lynch."

The second policeman shifted awkwardly, wiping sweat from his face with the side of his hand.  "It's about a young woman…staying at a hotel called the Traveller's Rest." The name he added afterwards was familiarly unfamiliar. Seifer recognised Quistis's off-duty pseudonym.

"Is she okay?"

"That's part of the problem, it seems." the older man said reflectively. "We've had a serious complaint from the hotel.  Someone said that you'd been seen with the lady in question."

 "I'll come. Just give me a few minutes to get my shit together." Seifer said. He gestured at his bare feet, mind running frantically to keep up.

The policemen watched from the veranda as Seifer yanked his boots towards him and started to lace them. There was a dried bloodstain faintly visible on the dark leather, a souvenir of the little T-Rexfest the previous day. Seifer casually rested one hand over the mark until he'd finished and then pulled the frayed hems of his jeans down over the cuffs of his boots. To his relief, they covered the stain almost perfectly.

And they'd said Quistis…

_Is she in some kind of trouble?_

_I knew they should have sent her some backup.._

_Hang on, how do the cops know what I'm doing with her?_

_What do the police have to do with SeeD?_

_Nothing, that's what…_

"Are you done?" 

Seifer shrugged. He gave the room one last glance, picked up the key from the worktop and locked the door behind them. Turning to follow the older man down the steps, he stuffed his left hand into a pocket to check for holes, and then dropped the key in.

He thought of Hyperion, neatly bound in plastic sheeting and newspaper underneath the eaves of the house.  Nobody would find it, not there, and his knives were pretty much safe. There were a few oddments of sharpened metal about his person, true, one razorblade sewn into the tongue of his boots and a small rod of aluminium hidden in the seam of the left leg of his jeans, for lock-picking.

Seifer hoped that he wouldn't have to use them. The policemen certainly weren't treating him as if they believed he was a threat, but there was something odd about the younger cop's behaviour. For some reason he seemed to be taking Seifer more seriously.

They reached the bottom of the steps.  There was a police car parked neatly next to the rusting hulk his next-door neighbour kept for grocery runs. Seifer kicked its tyres as he walked past and thought he saw a curtain twitch.

_Okay. I've just confirmed all her suspicions. Going to hell._

He stretched casually, narrowly missing the shoulder of the smaller policeman, and cracked his neck, glancing surreptitiously down the street.

It was empty, and the emptiness wasn't the determined silence of large numbers of heavily armed people trying very hard to be quiet. 

Nothing _strange._

Of course, maybe the small child watching them incuriously across the street could be a Balamb operative, but he seemed a bit young even for them…

But then, he'd been wrong before…. 

One of the policemen gestured him into the back seat of the car.  Seifer sat down. Inside, it didn't look like a police car at all, more like a family saloon, if you ignored the trailing wires running out of one window to link the cigarette lighter with the blue light on its roof. Just a typical small-town cop car.

The older man put the keys in the ignition, started up and drove, slowly and without exceeding the speed limit, to the police station.  It was a long, low building on the outskirts of town, in the opposite direction to Seifer's house, and painted a dark blue. 

The car drew up outside.

Seifer tensed. 

_Okay, this is where they pull out the AK-47s…_

Again, nothing happened.   

_Huh. _

The older man gestured him inside.  Seifer followed.

The policemen ushered him through a door that was identical to the rest and followed him in.  Seifer took in the room at a glance, half-expecting to see Squall facing him. Or at least Martine, with his red coat and axe to grind.

He was disappointed.

The room was boxy, white and heavy with the institutional feel of public buildings everywhere. The walls were pale blue and cracked, lit with neon that did nothing to hide the stubbled faces of the two cops who slid into plastic chairs behind a low desk. Lynch gestured to a third chair, facing them. Seifer sat down. He rested his hands on the table and looked up at the two policemen, realising as he did so that any attempt to hide his identity probably wasn't going to work.

_Quistis, I hope you're really in trouble. _

_Either this is about you, which means I shut my mouth and say nothing and hope to get out of here fast, or this is about me.  In which case going with those cops wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had…_

The emergency razorblade burned at his ankle.

Seifer watched both the policemen carefully, trying to calculate the distance to the door. The younger man's tag read D. Lynch.  The older cop was M. E. White.

"Mister…" White checked his notes." Matthews." He glanced up. "Right?"

"Right" Seifer said slowly, trying to work out where all this was going. 

Lynch brushed imaginary lint from his shirt, steepled his hands on the desk and watched Seifer closely. "Let me fill you in with the facts. Last night, we got a phone call from the receptionist at the Traveller's Rest. You know it?"

Seifer shrugged. "Sure." He relaxed, slightly.

_Maybe this really is about her._

"She was concerned about the whereabouts of one of her guests who had disappeared from the premises leaving all her possessions without checking out leaving a forwarding address. The cleaner found several suspect items while cleaning room seven. It belonged to a lady who left this" holding up a laminated identity card, "at reception. As well as some rather worrying things in her room, which while not technically illegal, are nonetheless a matter of some concern. And you know her."

 "Course." Seifer didn't bother to deny the claim.  The fuzzy image showed Quistis, under a false name, her profession listed as 'librarian'.  

The older man wrote notes on a spiral bound pad, the younger guy just watched, tapping his fingers on the table in a vaguely irritating rhythm. He asked  "Can you shed any light on this incident? The receptionist at the inn said that you were…..somehow related… to the lady in question."

White didn't look up from his note-taking. " I'm sure Mister Matthews has a completely reasonable explanation. Dave…..can I call you Dave? is willing to help us out in any way that we see fit." His voice reeked of sarcasm.

Seifer glared. "You can't. And I'm not."

The older cop scribbled something down and followed it with an emphatic exclamation point. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lit up, casually ignoring the 'No Smoking' signs plastered on every wall. Seifer followed the movement with his eyes, inhaling nicotine by proxy. 

"It might be to your advantage to change your mind."

Seifer said "I've been sleeping with her for the past two weeks." He saw no point in lying.  The receptionist at the hotel could probably supply a list of dates, if they'd bothered to ask.

"I see."

_I hope to Hyne you didn't. _

_That nosy bitch of a receptionist.__ It's none of her business what Quistis does.. She can come stay with me when she comes back.  I'll find a bigger mattress._

"So can you enlighten us to the whereabouts of this young lady?"

Seifer gave the policeman a blank stare. It never hurt to have people underestimate you. And if there was anything going on behind this stupid half-assed claim, still, it might be a very good idea to be underestimated.

"He means," said the younger policeman in a tone of faint sarcasm." do you know where she is?" He seemed less nervous, somehow, slouched back in his chair, but he still watched Seifer very closely.

"At this precise time." 

"At present."

_Do you think I'm stupid?_

_Good.  _

Seifer decided to play along. He rested his right ankle casually on the knee of his left leg, feeling for the tiny pocket sewn in his boot with nicotine-stained fingers.  "She said she was going to visit friends. She didn't leave a number."

"Friends?"

"Friends."

Lynch chewed on his toothpick and gave Seifer a sardonic glare. He picked up a pen, put it down again. "In a biblical sense?"

Seifer exploded. "Look, I don't know what the fuck you're playing at, but what the hell business is it of yours? Haven't you got enough teen joyriders to keep you busy?"

 "Are you aware that a cleaner found weapons in her room?"

 Seifer faked surprise well. "I don't know anything about any weapons."

_Not hers, anyway…._

_Shit, Quistis. I thought you were smart…All that crap about me having to hide Hyperion… _

"Apparently not.." White said dryly. He made some more notes on his pad. 

Seifer leaned forwards on the table. "Weapons?"

It wouldn't be Quistis's whip, that was for certain.  She'd have taken that even on a diplomatic mission.  He guessed she could have brought some other equipment from Balamb and left it in the room.  A small handgun, maybe?

"I don't think you need to know what kind of weapons.  Unless you already do, in which case, please do enlighten us." White's tone dripped with condescension, and would have worked better if he'd bothered to brush the doughnut crumbs from his thick moustache.

Seifer looked at the other man, playing the dumb blond card for all it was worth.

"We can't tell you." Lynch translated. He hadn't said much during the interview, if that was what it was, but Seifer felt somehow scrutinised.  As if this man suspected something.

He played for time. "So why'd you pull me in?"

"There were witnesses who testified as to your relationship with Ms Smith."

"What witnesses?"

"We can't give out the names of people who contact us to the general public." Lynch said tiredly. The speech had the cadence of an official policy, repeated many times until it began to lose what little meaning it had had in the first instance.  

Seifer's initial concern for himself was fading. Fading so much, in fact, that the situation was starting to annoy him.

And the problem was, it could all be sorted out in just one short sentence. The words. 'She's A SeeD' would do nicely, he reckoned. But if he gave in, did that, then the police would want to know how he knew. They'd check with Garden.  

And that pretty much ran Seifer up against a brick wall. He wasn't totally against the issue of returning, but it had to be, like everything else, on his own terms.

He sighed.

The clock ticked, slowly

Lynch tapped his fingers on the table. There was an edge of faint amusement in his stare and it was getting on Seifer's nerves. His partner's glance just held typical it's-late-and-I'm-tired-and-let's-just-get-this-over-with-as-fast-as-possible coffee-fuelled glare common to policemen everywhere.

The younger cop wasn't looking him in the eyes. 

Seifer had his arms resting on the table. Wearing his usual ragged T shirt, the scars stood out as thin white lines in the fluorescent light.

The cop, Lynch, was staring at them. 

He glanced up to meet Seifer's eyes and smiled, slowly.

Seifer scowled in return and folded his arms again.   

The policeman gave a shit-eating grin and flicked a finger at Seifer.

"Where'd you get those?"

He shrugged. 

"We are, alas, not fluent in Braille. Nor are we telepathic." Lynch's grin had widened, and Seifer was sure that he wasn't going to get the joke until it was explained and that wouldn't like the answer when it came. 

"I had an accident prone childhood."

The cop gave him a _yeah, right_, kind of look.

Seifer stared at them, thought about smashing his head into the laminate tabletop and then decided against it. The clock ticked gently in the background.

"Mr Matthews?"

"Look, just shut the fuck up." Seifer muttered. He rested his head in his hands. The Bad Cops exchanged glances over his head, obviously thinking that they'd cracked him like a cheap bottle.

They obviously didn't know Seifer. He didn't do cracking, having established long ago that if you really were going to break, the way to do it was just to ensure as many people got hit with the flying glass as possible. Maximum damage.

The questions continued over Seifer's head.

"Where is she?"

"We know you know where she is. There is the small matter of the items in Ms Smith's room." White said, gently.

"Guns? Maybe she's got a handgun licence."

"We didn't find one."

"Maybe she took it with her."

White scowled. "Did you, perhaps, notice the items on your visits to her room?"

Seifer took a deep breath and counted to ten.

"Don't even try to deny it. We have witnesses that you visited her room several times."

Seifer looked blank "If you told me what I was meant to be denying, I might try it."

 "Did you sell them her?"

"Sell her what?"

"Is she in trouble?"

Lynch shrugged. "Maybe."

"What do you mean, _maybe_?"

"Did you bring the items to her room, Mister Matthews?"

Seifer leaned back in the chair. "_What items_?" It was taking quite a lot of self-restraint to stop braining them both with a chair.

_I've had just about enough of both you guys._

Worry for Quistis was warring with vague but fading paranoia that they really did know who he was and were just stalling to make sure he didn't do anything stupid until the reinforcements came.

_And if they do, I'll take them on. Me and my razorblade…_

Lynch, obviously deciding that visual aids would be a good idea for someone of Seifer's limited intelligence, drew out a thick sheaf of folders from a stainless steel filing cabinet in the corner of the room. There were several more bulky items wrapped in plastic bags behind them, which Seifer glimpsed for a second and then lost as the policeman yanked the drawer shut behind him.  One could have been the right shape for weapons, but for all he knew it could have been Quistis's toothbrush, padded with a washcloth and a loose pair of socks. He thought he recognised a laptop stuffed in the back.

He did recognise the papers. They weren't distinctive, quite the opposite in fact.  Neat Times New Roman text on plain white paper, lacking insignia or fancy crested formal writing.

It was exactly the same kind of cheap, anonymous and above all, flammable paper that Garden wrote its mission orders on. The sheets were neatly slotted into clear plastic folders and looked as if they had been extracted from some kind of binder.

The top sheet appeared to be some kind of map.

The slot machine that was Seifer's head spun and came up with three gold bars. Lucky strike…

_There's got to be something behind this crap. If I've got a map, then I know where I'm going._

_I can go find her._

He tried not to look at the papers and asked casually. "Don't you have to get a search warrant for that kind of stuff?"

White tapped his pad on the paper, underlined something and then laid the pen down. "We didn't search the room.  The landlady handed them over to us after she became concerned about the nature of some of the items."

"They don't look that suspicious to me…."Seifer said.

"Appearances can be deceiving."

_No shit. These guys must not be up on their World's Most Wanted lists.  Of course, maybe I got taken off, what with being presumed dead and all…._

He reached out for one of the papers lower down in the stack.  White reached out to stop him, or maybe to steady the pile, Seifer wasn't quite sure, but he was too late. As Seifer yanked the folder out of the stack, the shiny plastic coatings on the documents slid and toppled. Lynch's frantic grab came too late as the papers cascaded over the desk

Seifer barely glanced at the paper he was holding, realising vaguely that it was upside down. But it didn't matter.  He'd got what he needed.

The map on the top of the pile was Quistis's location plan, the target site neatly marked with a red cross. It was clearly visible on the floor from where he was sitting, and Seifer had good eyesight. A neatly printed address had been faintly visible through the sheet, no town, but he already knew which city she'd gone to.

2 Harbourside, Old City. There had been a postcode, too, but he hadn't had time to read it, and anyway, he wouldn't be delivering letters.

So at least, if he really, really, needed to follow her, at least he knew where she was……

 Lynch snatched the folder off him with a curse. "Don't touch those'

Seifer rested his fists on his chin, innocently. "Okay, then."

The older policeman motioned to Lynch to put the folders back. "You've never seen this stuff before?"

"Nope."

"You don't know what's in them? For the last time?"

"No." Seifer concentrated on maintaining good eye contact, not looking away, or blinking, or scratching his face.  All the things policemen were trained to watch out for, to tell whether or not someone was lying

The only problem was that SeeD knew those techniques too…

The older man scribbled on his pad. "Well. I think that pretty much wraps it up for now."

"It does?" Seifer glanced at the clock. Three p.m. 

_Well, that was quick. _

White glanced at Lynch, who was still stacking the files back into the cabinet. The younger cop seemed about to say something until his colleague stopped him with a gesture. "Leave it."

"But…."The younger man slammed the metal drawer shut emphatically.

"Leave it, I said." White snapped. He turned to Seifer. "We'd like to ask you to stay a few more hours while we run a routine background check. And then we'll ask you some more questions, after which you should be free to go."

Seifer watched Lynch carefully. The younger cop swallowed, flinched and then seemed to gain some confidence from somewhere. His hands steadied on the table and his voice was even as he replied. "I think that's a very good idea."

The older man's voice was faintly sarcastic. "You do, do you? It's a good job I'm in charge here, is all I can say."

"Yes, sir."

White turned to Seifer as the two policemen got up from their chairs. "Some people'll drop by in a minute to do a few routine procedures. I request that you co-operate fully, tell the truth, and we'll be out of here in no time. Don't leave, otherwise we'll have to do this all again, and wouldn't that be a shame?"

Seifer shrugged. 

White opened the door and exited through it, whistling. Lynch gave Seifer a hurried glance, and followed.

The background check was painless. Another blue-uniformed policeman came in, and took his fingerprints, printing them neatly on a piece of white card. He was asked to fill in a computer-generated identification form. It started out as a blank document and finished as a work of fiction.  

The man took the forms and his cards, and told him to wait, that someone would be around to see him shortly.

So Seifer sat in the room, and waited, misgivings coalescing slowly in his stomach as he thought about ways of passing time and chewed the fingerprint ink from his fingers, several variations on the theme of 'fuck' running through his head.  

_I'm in a copshop in a city whose last exciting crime was a car theft nine years ago, with at least three different flavours of policemen, none of which know my real name, my record or what I'm meant to be doing time for. _

_Hopefully_

_And I haven't a clue what the hell is going on.  _

Fact one. Lynch had said that maybe she was in trouble. Either she'd be home when he got back, or…… he'd just have to wait and see.

The address burned in Seifer's mind.  

Fact two: He couldn't ring up Garden to check, without risking them finding out where he was. Maybe they wouldn't. 

Maybe they would.

Fact three: She'd gone to Velalisier to talk to that strange CLA group. This meant that the rebels were directly responsible if Quistis was in trouble and indirectly, therefore, for Seifer being in the mess he was in.

They were going to be deader than a six-week corpse when he caught up with them.

Fact four came last, as an afterthought. 

_I better really hope that no one recognises me._

Seifer would have given several million gil to pick up a phone and hear Quistis' voice. Realistically, of course, he knew that it was about as likely as Squall turning up and saying 'come back, all is forgiven'.  He didn't even have a phone in his flat.

While he was thinking about it, he decided, she could call and say "Never mind my mission, let's go shag madly. I'll be home in half an hour." And that would be just fine. _Screw__Garden__.___

Seifer's patience was fraying. He kicked the wall, and sighed.

The way he saw it, there were two choices, if this really was about Quistis.

He still wasn't convinced that it was.  It all seemed too easy, somehow. 

_She should be back by the time I get home, and then she can explain it all to the hotel, if she likes.  And if they have a problem with her being a SeeD, she can just come sleep at mine._

He crossed his arms behind his head and stared into nothing, waiting. 

Nothing happened for at least five minutes, until Seifer heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Bored, he'd taken to slamming the wall nearest to him once every second with his steel toecaps to mark the passing time and it was already very much the worse for wear.

At first Seifer didn't notice the sound of people underneath the regular thumps of his timekeeping.  As they came closer he stopped and swung his legs onto the floor, right hand moving to his boot.  His thumb traced along the faint ridged outline of the razorblade hidden beneath the leather lining. 

_I need a damn coffee.  Or something stronger._

The footsteps came closer. Seifer rose silently from his chair and tried the door.

It was locked.

One hand dipped into his boot and came up with a faint silver rectangle, half-hidden in his palm. Seifer flattened himself behind the door and listened.

There was a faint thud from outside, as if someone had leant against the other side of the wall.

A man spoke faintly. "I don't like this."

The reply was inaudible. Seifer strained to hear.

 "She just said she'd seen him around. I reckon." A pause. "that this is just some mad snipe hunt. Some of that stuff….out of our league."

"I just think there's something strange about him."

Both voices were familiar.  The second belonged to Lynch. The first was White's. Seifer relaxed, slightly. The razorblade slipped back into the palm of his hand with the ease of long practice.

"What is your problem?" There was the noise of something hitting the wall. "We're not paid to goddamn think! There's nothing strange.  I don't know what the hell that shit we got given from the hotel is, but it's not something we want to mess with. And until we find that girl, there's no proof. "

"I just reckoned.."

"Here's a tip. Don't." 

The footsteps resumed. Seifer hooked the chair towards him with one boot and was seated, the razorblade replaced in its hidden pocket, before the policemen walked in.

White was carrying a cup of coffee. A slogan on the mug read 'World's Greatest Dad." Lynch had swapped his toothpick for gum.  His jaw moved rhythmically.  

The older policeman grinned around a swallow of coffee. "Enjoying yourself?"

Seifer shrugged.

"Sorry that took longer than we thought. Of course, your background check was less than sparkling." 

Seifer crossed everything he could cross and waited, sharp metal nearby at hand 

"You don't have one."

A hand pulled away from his boot as Seifer remembered to breath. Lynch watched him, closely.

"Your name is not David Matthews, and you are certainly not from Trabia. Are you, Mister Matthews?

"Is Matthews your real name?"

Seifer narrowed his eyes, and shut up. His gaze went from White to Lynch and back again. "What happened to the good cop, bad cop thing?" 

The older man sighed. "My colleague and I are not in a movie, Mister Matthews. We are simply interested in closing the details of this case. I don't like this. I don't like getting calls from hotel cleaners at clocking-off time asking us to please come and pick some stuff up 'cause she's found a gun in the laundry basket. Metaphorically speaking."

Seifer followed his gaze. The clock read four-thirty p.m. "I'm not going anywhere." He gave them a flat-eyed glare.

"Have you a criminal record in any country or state, Mister Matthews?"

"No." Seifer said. For once, he was telling the truth. 

After all, he'd never been caught. 

"Would you like to tell us the details of your record?"

Seifer lost his patience and didn't bother to even look for it." Look it up.  You said I don't have a history. You can't pin anything on me." 

_Damn, Quistis, why didn't you tell them you were going? Or at least hang a Do Not Disturb sign on your door? _

_Oh, I remember, you were up till four in the morning the night before you went.  And I guess that was partly my fault.  Me and the damn T-Rexaurs._

"You don't have a record. You don't have a work history. You do not, technically, exist. You can see our problem here."

"I don't see a problem."

"What do you do for a living, Mister Matthews?"

Seifer banged his hands on the table. The cuffs made a little clink. "Whatever's going. Fishing. Security. Pest control."

"Legal work, is it? " White said. He noted on his pad Profession: Itinerant Worker. Seifer just had time to read the words Possible Attitude Problem crossed out and replaced with Definite Attitude Problem before the man casually but firmly covered the pad with his arm. 

"I don't have a job right now. I don't have much money. And it damn sure isn't a crime."

White gave him a cynical glare. "You'd think, wouldn't you. Now, do you know where this girl is or not?"

"I. Don't. Know."

"We have some pressing questions we would like to ask Ms Smith and we have reason to believe you might know where she is. Or at the very least, what she was doing with unlicensed weapons in a hotel room."  

"I don't." Seifer repeated. 

It had been a long day.

 "And your relationship with this lady?" White held up the identification card again.  Quistis stared out from the picture, glassy-eyed.

Seifer shrugged. "She was fun.  While it lasted."

"Your relationship was purely personal?"

"I guess." Shrug, smile.

"And you'd never met her before Hana?

"No. 

"Are you positive?"

"I told you. No."

White tucked his Biro neatly into the rings of his bound pad. Seifer realised he'd won as the older man turned to Lynch, and said "Come on.  He doesn't know anything. There isn't any charge."

"But…." 

 "It's closed, okay." He turned to Seifer."You're free to go.".

Lynch coughed. "But…."

"No."

"I can leave?" Seifer glanced at the door as both the policemen got up from their plastic chairs. 

White picked up his pad and opened the door. "Yup. Now get out of here before I change my mind and start asking you about some of your other activities."

Seifer went.

The shorter cop, Lynch, escorted him to the gate, glare prickling between his shoulderblades the whole way. He waited as Seifer collected his belongings from the front desk. As Seifer opened the door he grabbed his upper arm and hissed "You might find it to your advantage not to leave town in the next few weeks."

Seifer glared at the man's fingers until he gave up and took his hand away. "Is that the law?"

Lynch said "No." reluctantly and then rallied "It's a kindly piece of advice. Just in case. Or who knows what might happen?"

"Is that a threat?" _Or a challenge?___

"No. Just stay round and keep you nose clean.  Or else. Before I do something I might regret.

Seifer gave him a condescending state, a soldier's contempt for the local law enforcement. "You won't. You're the police. You're supposed to be the good guys. I'm the villain, remember?"

The man stayed poker-faced. "We'll be seeing you, Mister Matthews."

Seifer stepped down from the doors.

_I damn well hope not. _

This chapter's a weird one. I finished it a few days ago, loathed it, rewrite it last night, and now like it. Kind of. The short cop, Lynch, is trying to make Seifer's life difficult for a reason. He's trying to find out something

And no, it's not what you think. 

The teenage comeback Quistis recites to Adolescent!Seifer in the hall is lifted from the comic Demo, because the person saying it did look an awful lot like Quistis.

Lynch and White have absolutely no connection to real police procedures, though they're probably closer to English small-town cops than their scary American counterparts.

Reviews: 

Altol: There is indeed something about the pair that suggests mind-blowing (hehe) sex.  I think it's just because they're so damn pretty. Throw Squall into the mix and there might well be some kind of explosion that you could use to produce cheap and affordable electricity for all…okay, not going there.

Amber-Tinted. Quistis asking him if he was jealous was kind of mean. But everyone makes mistakes, and she's got a lot on her mind right now.

Breaker-one: The card thing would be a help if I'd actually bothered to learn how to play cards. I knew this was going to bite me in the ass. I got fed up and tried to fight Ultima Weapon, which killed me in oh, two minutes. Mnaa.

DBZ Fanfiction Queen: Yeah, I know it, I'm predictable. The rebel crap does have a point, honestly. Eventually.

 Ghost140; I'm addicted to stress, it's the way that I get things done…. Well, stress, caffeine, imagination and a borrowed Protestant work ethic, actually.

Jindy Wahr. Thanks. I enjoy writing it, most of the time.

Nynaeve77. I try to write realistic sex. Well, kind of. If you think about it, when you're not actually doing it, it's a bit silly. 

Quistis88:Ta. I really appreciate your continued reviews. Longtime reviewer award of free eyeglasses and caffeine pills, right here!

Seventhe: Well, I hate to disappoint, but you were dead right about the future plot twists involving a Honda, the missiles and spaghetti, but sadly, no kittens. Alas. Actually, the whole mission thing is an attempt to……..CENSORED…..current affairs…CENSORED…….guns. I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you.

Sickness In Salvation; Uh, he doesn't have to make an excuse, in the end. One is kind of thrust upon him. 

Sulou: Seifer and Quistis just bounce off each other so well. On so many levels. He wants to kill things, and she's okay with that provided they do the paperwork first. And, of course, they both have no middle gears.

Superviolinist: Hey, I don't review everything I read. And I'm not even reading that much lately, because choosing to keep SDTC going or to spend more time doing other stuff leads me back to my fic all the time.  

Verdanii: Why thankyou.

Ta guys

Kate (frontier psychiatrist) 


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Angry Young Man

 Chapter Sixteen: Angry Young Man.

There's a place in the world for the angry young man

With his working class ties and his radical plans.

He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl

And he's always at home with his back to the wall

And he's proud of his scars and the battles he's lost

And struggles and bleeds as he hangs on his cross.

And he likes to be known as the angry young man…

Angry Young Man-Billy Joel.

The police station dwindled into the distance as Seifer headed away from it, at speed.

He looked back only once, when he was reasonably sure it was busy enough that the cop couldn't trace him through the crowd.  

The policeman was still there.

Seifer slunk into the shadow of a ripped canvas awning outside a tourist shop and studied him. 

The cop turned his head from side to side like a hound casting for a scent. He stared into the crowd once and then disappeared, swinging back through a pair of forbidding studded doors into the police station.

Seifer sneered, fingers stabbing up into a short and angry gesture that he knew the man missed. He left his shelter and started off for the other side of town, wondering what Lynch wanted.

It was entirely possible that the cop was making some connection in his mind with Seifer's face. Maybe he'd caught an old news report from the wars, maybe he was too keen for his own good. Maybe he really was worked up about what Quistis had left in her room.  

If it was anyone else, Seifer would have no problem in believing that the cops had found something big, drugs, perhaps, some kind of SeeD weapon, but this was _Quistis_.  The most he could imagine her leaving was a small handgun, and that accidentally.

The woman acted as if breaking any law, no matter how trivial, was a kind of _crime_. 

Seifer would bet that Quistis didn't even fiddle her expenses on missions, and even Cid did that.  Even Squall.

He thought about this for a minute.

_Nah.__ Rinoa probably takes his extra and spends it on shoes. Quistis, she'd never-_

_She should be back by now. _

Seifer conjured Quistis up in his mind, sitting at his table with a mug of coffee held in two cupped hands. He took a second to mentally undress her, just because he could, and then reclothed the image in what he'd seen her last wearing, a pair of ruthlessly conservative blue jeans with a dark red T shirt.   As if by imagining the event it could somehow magic it into being, that Quistis might have returned, or even never left.

_Dammit, why does she find it so hard to say 'no'?_  

Seifer reasoned that if she'd declined Rinoa's offer, she'd have been in town still. But if she'd been better at saying 'no' to people then she'd surely have found some way to avoid a holiday. And he couldn't help thinking that he certainly wouldn't have got to sleep with her.  

No matter how Seifer, or anyone else for that matter, disliked it, Quistis's work ethic was a part of her. And Seifer liked all of her parts, though some parts better than others. It was strange that someone so damn intelligent had never figured out that the reward for digging great ditches was a bigger shovel. Seifer had learnt that lesson in the first decade of his life, which was why he never, ever volunteered for anything. 

He didn't consider the Edea thing as 'volunteering' because it implied conscious choice.

Seifer carried on walking.

He reached the corner of Sullivan Street within twenty minutes, cut round the back of the flat automatically and took the stairs two at a time. The handrail had been in the sun all day and was hot enough to burn his fingers, still sore from his practice casting.

A curtain twitched next door, and then stilled, hurriedly.

His neighbour's fat ginger cat rested on the handrail at the top of the stairs, cheerfully ignoring the heat. 

Seifer gave it a wide berth. He'd never been a cat person, but then he'd never been a dog person either, if Angelo had been anything to go by. Or even a people person, come to that.

He wondered if the cat had somehow been melted to the railing by the force of the sun. The animal certainly looked as if it had liquefied. Folds of orange fur overflowed the thin railing from all angles, covering tiny feet placed as neatly as any tightrope walker's. The cat raised its head as Seifer reached the landing and gave him an incurious green stare.  There was a strong smell of ammonia, pungent in the heat.

More specifically, cat piss.  And it was coming from his mat. 

Seifer swung round to confront the cat, with the intention of booting it off the balcony like a small and furry football, and then changed his mind. A faint glow glittered in the air around him.  A casual observer might have mistaken it for a heat haze, which, in a very real sense, it was.

He gave an evil grin. "Here, kitty, kitty."

The cat took one look and fled, jumping off the balcony with a plop. It ran, weaving in and out of the cover of plant pots until it reached the front door, where it leapt up onto the sill and disappeared through the window with a satisfied yowl.

Seifer cursed and rejunctioned the fire spell. He turned to his door and rattled the handle, which fell off. The door creaked open.

"Quistis?"

The room was empty and hot. Nobody there. 

He checked the clock. 

Six p.m. 

Where was she?

Though he didn't like to admit it, even to himself, Seifer was getting worried. He kicked the fallen door-handle into the wall under the window, where it dislodged a chunk of plaster. His keys went in the other direction. Seifer watched apathetically as they skidded across the worktop and landed in the sink with a clatter. He left them where they were, sat down heavily onto the mattress and began to take off his boots, flicking the razorblade out of its little pocket sewn into the right shoe's tongue. It glittered pristinely against the threadbare carpet. 

A razorblade wasn't much, but it could give you the edge in a fight where everyone thought you weren't armed. As a weapon it sucked monkeys, at least against anything serious. As a last resort, it was better than nothing.

Six p.m…………

"_I'm Quistis Trepe. SeeD level thirty. I have authority to speak for all the Gardens. I'm glad to meet with you, Mr-?"_

_"Oh, I don't think it's wise to give out names at this stage. But I assure you the feeling is mutual. We have no wish to continue this conflict."_

_"I would hesitate to call your recent activity a 'conflict', Sir."_

_"I wouldn't say it was entirely unprovoked. I'm sure you read the newspapers."_

_"I do. Those that are worth reading."_

_"You are recording this conversation?"_

_"Of course.__ As you agreed."_

_"Can we possibly route the transmission through our own radio system?"_

_"I'll have to contact my Balamb liason… Xu? Do you copy?"_

_"I copy, Blue Leader. Tell them if we lose this signal, even for a moment, we move in."_

_"……That would be acceptable. But as per the contract, if we lose the transmission then we shall be forced to take action."_

A pause.   

"_Of course."_

Click

_"Xu?__ Do you copy?"_

_"I copy, Blue Leader. Over and out."_

_Those cops don't know how lucky they are_ Seifer thought with a trace of his old arrogance. He mentally reviewed the conversation.

_Well, that was strange._

He wasn't worried about the first cop, the older one, but then Lynch, had definitely thought he was onto something. And his last comment had held more than a hint of a threat. _Watch out, we know where you live…._

He tried hard not to think about the obvious connotations inherent in the younger man's last name.

All in all, it had been a deeply weird day. And that fact that the cops had seemed to think _Quistis_ was the criminal was even stranger.

Seifer got up to get his cigarettes and matches. The fridge yielded one last can of beer, with a reluctant whine that meant it was probably on its last legs, too. He took up his normal position on the windowsill, feet on the tiles. One hand reached up absently to check Hyperion before he relaxed, pulled the tag from the can and took a long swallow, alternating drags on his cigarette with gulps of warming beer.  

_Maybe it's time to move out. Before I break all the household appliances. And I think the roaches are breeding._

He tried, with a stunning lack of success, to forget the moment of fatalism when he'd thought that someone would be waiting for him at the cop shop.  Someone important. Squall or Martine, 

There had been a single second of pure relief.

No more running. No more being unimportant. No more waiting for the moment when he stopped thinking of himself as a mercenary who was just down on his luck and started thinking of himself as just another itinerant worker, the bits of him that liked to fight draining away with the tide. The surprise when he'd realised he'd rather it be Squall, because Squall knew him as a person.  Knew _him_. Martine just knew him as an obstacle. 

The personal touch was a double-edged sword, or rather gunblade. 

On one hand, Squall had a grudge about Seifer that was hard to beat, but probably wouldn't have him killed, or at least would just shoot him himself quietly in the head. 

_Though I could be overestimating his moral decency.__ After all, there's always someone you'll make an exception for._

_In my case, him.__ In his case, maybe me._

_It could have been worse. It could have been Martine._

Seifer was perfectly aware that the Galbadian headmaster would happily blame global warming, the national debt and all Galbadia's financial troubles since the Sorceresses Wars on Seifer.  Ever since the Wars, he'd hunted the former Sorceress's Knight with a singlemindedness that bordered on obsession. 

But for Martine, it wasn't personal. He'd be satisfied with any solution that took the blame off his shoulders. Seifer could understand Squall's attitude, but he didn't get Martine. Fighting Squall and the rest in the wars seemed to have fucked up Seifer's life far more than it ever fucked up Squall's, but he still imagined staking the Galbadian out in the Training Centre and covering him with tinned meat before retiring to a safe place to watch and laugh.          It was a tempting thought, but Seifer told himself that he'd learnt his lesson. Revenge didn't pay.

Of course, maybe it was the kind of lesson you needed to go over more than once…..

_Maybe I should go back. When all this is sorted._

Seifer considered the idea seriously for the first time, one problem taking precedence over another for a moment.

It was something requiring deep thought, and possibly some kind of stage-management.

Returning.

Quistis would be there, of course. Squall, Rinoa and Selphie. Zell the chicken-wuss. Fuujin and Raiijin, his posse. Older now, all of them. And the other one who he'd only seen during the wars, Irving or something. The sniper who dressed like a cross between a cowboy and a rent-boy. 

_Now that's not going to be pretty when he hits sixty-five. Of course, Zell's hair's gonna look damn stupid, too…_

He'd recognised his eyes, anyway. Some things didn't change. 

_When she comes back.__ I'll think about it._

The sun was setting, low over the water.  Seifer scanned the street outside, hoping for a sign of Quistis.

_It's been nearly two days. _

The policeman had asked him if something had happened to her.

Quistis, walking off alone, whip coiled neatly into her bag, into what?

Seifer was sure (or almost sure) that she was facing nothing more threatening than being bored to death, but he couldn't help thinking that it would be a great excuse.

_I thought you were in trouble, so I came to rescue you._

Or it would have been a good excuse if he hadn't been damn sure that Quistis was perfectly capable of looking after herself and would probably regard being rescued as both an unforgivable insult and incredibly stupid. 

_If there's trouble, what do I care about what happens to a bunch of weirdo rebels anyway? _

Someone with more self-preservation instinct and possibly more self-control would have reasoned that if the situation was too dangerous for Quistis, then it would probably be at least equally lethal for them. Seifer, who had the self-control of a baby rock star and the aggression of a pit bull on amphetamines, cheerfully ignored this valid point.  His train of thought continued on, mowing down helpless objections under its armoured wheels. 

_I could just go.  And then if I see her, and she's okay, I'll just come right back…_

He didn't admit to himself that he probably would have gone anyway even if the policemen hadn't hauled him in.  The interview, if that was what it had been, just added a sense of urgency to his decision making.

_She could be back any minute. _

Seifer rested one hand on his chin and checked the clock again. Ten minutes had passed.  It seemed longer.

He shook his head, picked up his boots and threw them with characteristic force into the opposite corner of the room.  The impact disturbed a cockroach, who had been feeding on the rich deposits of discarded takeaway wrappers, cigarettes packets and coffee cups that littered the corner of Seifer's room.  It fled out from the corner, light gleaming off its chitinous surface, and then froze, perhaps puzzled by the light.

Seifer looked round for something to throw, picked up the door handle and lobbed that at the cockroach.

There was an unpleasant squelch, accompanied by a crunching noise. 

Seifer waited.

The handle rose, gently, and came to a halt, swaying slightly, about half an inch off the ground. It seemed to take stock of its surroundings for a second and made a break for it, racing for a crack in the wall.

Seifer picked up his boot and threw it at the roach just as the door handle hit the wall and flipped over with a faint tinkling noise. The cockroach scurried out from underneath and disappeared inside the crack, waving little legs in what Seifer took for a gesture of international cockroach defiance. His boot impacted a second later and bounced off, leaving a faint black print halfway up the peeling off-white wall.   

He leant back against the windowsill and knocked his head against the wall, gently.

_I should wait._

The dregs of the beer were bitter on the back of his tongue. Seifer drained the can and threw it, badly, out of the window, aiming for Sullivan Street's only litter bin, two floors down and twenty metres away. It missed, which wasn't really a surprise.

_Someday they'll come in and knock all this down, build houses for normal people.  There's only so far a town can expand without breaching its walls, with the monsters, and changing them takes too much effort._

_I'll be long gone by then. Maybe I won't even be alive._

The sky was darkening, outside.  It looked as if it might rain.

On an impulse Seifer decided to go check out the hotel. He was in a weird mood, a strange action-y kind of feeling. Itchy yet purposeless at the same time. In the back of his mind he knew she wouldn't be there, but it felt like he was doing something. 

Running the gauntlet of the cops, at least.

Seifer retrieved the keys from the sink and left, pulling the door closed with two fingers through the hole left in the woodwork to close it. The cat was nowhere to be seen, which was probably wise.

The first drops of rain fell as he walked along the sea front. The weather suited Seifer's mood, sky a leaden gunmetal grey, mirrored in the flat surface of the sea. It felt as if a storm was on its way, quiet, with no wind, and a feeling of electric anticipation.

He kept a sharp eye out for cop cars, but if they were there they were well hidden.  In Seifer's experiences (albeit limited) with local law enforcement, that probably meant there weren't any. 

The rain thickened, pouring with an almost tropical intensity. It wasn't unpleasant. The water was probably warmer than Seifer's shower. It bounced off drainpipes, overflowed from shop awnings and ran down gutters, clogging them with an almost joyful intensity as if it was trying to make up for a drought of two months in five minutes. It wouldn't last long. Seifer could see the cloud front advancing over the sea, laving pale blue-grey strips of sky behind it.

He was soaked and didn't much care.

Seifer walked through the rain until he reached the hotel. He didn't go in, reasoning that the reception had never been warm at the best of times, when the receptionist had thought him and Quistis were still cousins. The episode with the police and the whole thing with Quistis's lost key were unlikely to have endeared him any more to the receptionists.

The grounds were deserted, one welcome side-effect of the rain. Seifer located Quistis's room by memory, matching the lit windows above him with his mental schematic of the place.

It was dark, the French windows that led onto the balcony closed and locked. 

To Seifer's left the reception shone with a pale warm light into the dusk. 

The storm must have driven most of the tourists into their hotel rooms. Quistis's window stood out darkly in the middle of a cityscape of dim environmentally-friendly mood lighting. It looked like a pulled tooth from the empty drive.

Seifer stared up at the window, soaked and beginning to realise that it would have been more sensible to wait for the rain to stop and then go to the hotel, but at least the rain kept people away. So he sheltered beneath the lowest balcony and waited until it dried up, knee-deep in some kind of ornamental shrub that reminded him of the Ochu's tentacles. He fished the remains of his half-smoked cigarette from his jeans pocket and lit up, trying to decide what to do next.

_It'll be two days tomorrow._

_No one negotiates for that long, for fuck's sake. I wouldn't even bother with 'Hello'…_

Rain dripped from the balcony above. He could almost feel the presence of Quistis's room, three floors up. Cold and empty and uninviting.

The sun came out for a second, lighting the falling sheets of rain with an otherwordly glow. It faded, returned and stayed. The rain gradually eased off.

It left a clean smell, warm and wet and alive.

"_We're not against private military companies. But they have to be used in support of the military, not in place of it."_

_"I appreciate your point of view, but the Gardens have resources and experience that are invaluable in …certain situations."_

_"Ms. Trepe, let us speak plainly. This is about the Guardian Forces."_

_"I don't believe I know what you're talking about."_

_"Give us credit. We've all heard the rumours. The Gardens have found some kind of ultimate fighting machines that the regular army can't stand up against. The 'GFs'"_

_"I'm afraid I can't discuss Balamb training policy."_

_"What can the Gardens do that regular soldiers couldn't, given the appropriate training? And resources…"_

_"We are much better equipped…"_

_The resources and cash flow, Ms Trepe, that they are badly denied. Why shouldn't soldiers leave their regiments and sign up to the Gardens?"_

_"That I can answer.__ We only take cadets up to the age of sixteen. Ensuring no such drain."_

_"Is this because they are easily manipulated?"_

_"No. It is not."_

_"We know your history, Ms Trepe. You are an orphan."_

_"I don't see that this had anything to do with the terrorist activity that we're here to discuss."_

_"But you admit that your organisation recruits children?"_

_"Of course.__ Many parents are only too happy to send their children to the Gardens, knowing their unrivalled quality of education. We're trained to adapt to the changing situations of this world. I'm sure you're quite aware of the implications of the Lunar Cry. There are simply too many monsters for the regular armies to deal with." _

_"But the children themselves do not have any say in this themselves?"_

_"Of course they do. Cadets can leave at any time before graduation." _

_"Did you?"_

_"Did I what?"_

_"Did you choose to enter Garden as a child? You were brought up by the ex-Sorceress Edea, the wife of the last Balamb Headmaster."_

_"I was under the impression that this meeting was to discuss your unauthorised and unjustified use of force on the Gardens, rather than my private life."_

Seifer finished his cigarette and shook himself like a wet dog, running one hand through his short hair to make it stick straight up. His clothes were cool and clammy on his body.

_Better go. Before too many people come out._

Even so, the streets were beginning to crowd again by the time he reached the seafront.  The sea had receded a tiny bit, leaving a metre-width of wet sand hard up against the sea-wall. It was already being colonised by small children, couples walking arm-in arm and families with large wet dogs. 

He walked along the wet streets, gaze sifting through the clouds, searching for a tall, blond-haired girl.  The hunt got him a few glares, several embarrassed blushes and a couple of invitations that Seifer didn't bother to take up. It was beginning to dawn on him that Quistis had somehow become a habit.

He was so fixed on finding Quistis, mental image set firmly at default (Quistis seated at the kitchen table with the coffee clutched in her hands) as opposed to kinky (Quistis asleep in his bed, naked) or working (Quistis sitting at a desk, wearing her glasses and chewing a pencil) that he almost missed another familiar face. 

Seifer's feet carried him past the men and several metres down the seafront before his brain caught up with his boots and he turned back. The crazy religious nutcase from the restaurant was deep in conversation with a neat figure dressed in the blue shirt and orange cold-weather trousers of the Trabian police force. Seifer didn't recognise the face of the second man for a moment, but the hairstyle rang a bell. The tone of their voices was low, but both faces were angry.

Lynch.

Seifer instinctively sheltered behind a large family group, moving towards the arguing men only to be marooned as the family suddenly turned and headed into a shop. Luckily, both men were too engrossed in their own argument to be paying much attention to the world around them. Lynch was stabbing one finger emphatically into the air. The preacher shrugged, eloquently and lost his grip on his bag. Papers cascaded to the ground.

Seifer moved closer. No one that tall should have been able to move that silently, especially not in steel toe-capped boots, but he managed it. There was a telephone box, newly installed since the wars, a few feet away from the pair. All four sides were covered with posters and heavily layered stickers advertising various pop groups, seaside events and phone sex lines. Seifer stood on the side furthest away from the argument and acted like he was admiring the view.

The fight, like the storm, was sharp, brief, and over quickly. Seifer missed most of it, though he did catch one single word. 

It was SeeD.

It made up his mind for him.

He looked round to the pair, not caring who saw him, just in time to see their retreating backs as they walked off together, leaving the priest's religious literature strewn over the paving slabs.

Seifer cursed his luck. He'd been intending to grab the nut, threaten him into giving up some information. He did threatening. But with the cop there, no chance. Seifer may have been reckless, but he wasn't stupid.

_Who cares, anyway? I'll wait till tomorrow and then go._

He hastily added '_If she's not back, anyway'_ and turned to head home. 

"_Despite your arguments, I feel that I cannot in any way condone the use of force against the Gardens."_

_"I-"_

_"Which you took full responsibility for."_

_"We did…"_

_"Regardless of the fact that the damage could have endangered children's lives.__ The children that you seem to care so much about."_

_"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."_

_"The many _are_ the few. There's just more of them. Let me read you the statistics. _

_Balamb__Garden__ suffered a grade three power outage and loss of systems.  Thirty people were hospitalised with injuries, four serious. Including seventeen cadets under the age of eighteen." _

_"The object of the exercise was to make an example-"_

_"Galbadia: Systems crash. No injuries, but the resulting power failure did lead to the failure of several machines in the infirmary, where two cadets and one SeeD were undergoing medical attention. Two recovered despite the equipment failure. One had to be airlifted to the nearest hospital. The Garden was incapacitated for three days and thus was not available to answer distress calls from nine isolated Galbadian communities. As a result it is believed that a total of thirty-two civilians died in monster attacks.."_

_"We-"_

_"Monster attacks that could have been prevented.__ By Galbadia."_

_"It's the Gardens' fault that the army were too underfunded to get there in time…" _

_ "Trabia: Monsters released from training centres. Two cadets, (aged fifteen and nineteen) and one SeeD(age thirty-two) killed. Twelve injured, one of those seriously. I fail to see how this is helping the so-called plight of children in the Gardens. It's just plain terrorism. Which we refuse to give in to. Just think yourself lucky we agreed to negotiate rather than deeming you a threat to national security, which would have led to the use of all available force."_

_"We-.."___

_"And I'm quite sure you don't want that."_

_"We resent the use of the word terrorists! We are a peaceful group who were forced to respond to the Gardens' frankly immoral monopoly on private military services. Attacks on military installations and soldiers' residences are not defined as terrorism." _

_"You seem very well informed." _

_"Thank you."_

The cat was still nowhere to be seen as Seifer returned to the flat for the second time. Equally, there was still no sign of Quistis.

Seifer found a can of soup shrouded with dust in the back of his cupboard and ate mechanically, still staring at the clock. After he'd finished he dumped the bowl and spoon in the sink, unwashed, where they joined a growing pile of cutlery.

 _She'll kill me if I go._

_She might die if I don't_

_Let's be really honest here, is this just some kind of excuse? Not that I care, or anything…_

He shrugged his bad mood off and went to get Hyperion from its hiding place under the eaves. 

The blade was razor-sharp, but Seifer sharpened it anyway. It had become, over the years, a familiar ritual, first the rough stone, then the smooth, then a final wipe with oil to clean dust from the blade. He took the gun part of the weapon part and cleaned that, as well.   

When he'd finished, the whole thing gleamed with a faint air of menace.

Seifer admired it for a second. 

He carefully wiped the handle, using a clean, dry cloth that had taken some finding. Old T-shirts were ideal for cleaning the gun, but anything both clean _and_ dry was a rarity in Seifer's flat. In the end he'd had to go into the bathroom and steal a washcloth that the old lady from next door had stupidly laid out to air. 

There would be trouble later, but Seifer didn't plan to be there. And it would have been nice if a missing flannel was the least of his worries.

He ran the washcloth carefully down the blade. 

There was the faintest of sounds as the cloth parted softly from its fibres. One half slid down the slick metal of Hyperion's blade to land in a ragged heap on the floor.  Seifer held the other in his hand. 

He ran a finger down the edge of the blade, skin a bare millimetre away from the cutting edge, and smiled.  

It was ridiculously easy to get used to having a weapon on your shoulder.  Cadets in Garden were allowed to carry their weapons with them around the base most of the time once they passed the first level exam. The only exceptions to the rule were the classrooms and the Infirmary, because Kadowaki had managed to come up with some stupid rule about how they screwed with the med equipment or something.  It was a moot point, anyway. No one was actually allowed to duel inside the school unless it was in the training centre, but most of the cadets hauled theirs around anyway, at least into the novelty wore off.

Seifer knew for a fact that Zell had worn his first pair of fighting gloves for six months solid, until one of the senior instructors had taken him aside, gently, and told him that they were starting to smell and that writing in gloves made Zell's papers impossible to mark, mainly because she couldn't read a word he'd written.

Seifer had been complaining about the smell every week for a month, combined with comments about Zell's hair, tattoo and general dress sense, but the chicken-wuss had ignored him, as usual.  And _he'd_ carried Hyperion slung over his shoulder for at least a term, though the thing had become successively heavier after each upgrade. He'd spent his first year's worth of cadet pay on improvements to the weapon, taking Fuujin and Raijin out of the base at every opportunity to search for more items, anything that would give them the edge in a fight. When he'd run out of money sometime in the first two months, he'd systematically bullied trophies and cash from all the other cadets, which led to a pretty fucking serious weapon by the time he was sixteen. 

The upgrades hadn't done anything to change Hyperion's sleek lines. It was more than just a pile of gunpowder and casings, adamantine and screws, he'd carried it for so long it felt like an extension of his arm.

He had no doubt that it was worth quite a lot of money, but then he'd never even thought about selling it. And it was way too distinctive to trade without some risk.

Seifer would rather have sold a kidney.

The evening light drowned into darkness.

"_The mere presence of the Gardens raises taxes. Wouldn't it be better to fund the existing armies rather than have private organisations do our dirty work?"_

_"We operate to the highest discretion and have certain advantages over using the military. We're equipped for any situation." _

_"What's a typical scenario?"_

_"Pardon?"___

_"What do you get paid for?"_

_" A__ , uh, typical scenario would be a threat to national security, especially when international support is not available, but external support is needed. For example, a plague of monster attacks.  A pod of Grats have spored, and they're too much for the local military to deal with."_

_"But this gives a lot of power to the Gardens.."_

_"We don't solicit contracts. We don't have to."_

_"But you could be said to have unfair advantages. As we discussed before. These new Guardian Forces…"_

_"Are not used routinely."_

_"I believe are still in their experimental stage. They're said to be more effective than even magic. And obviously using both is going to make you better fighters, therefore you have the edge."_

_"The Guardian Forces are not the issue here. We have only a limited amount of time and I would hate to leave your issues unresolved."_

_"Right.__ There are many other factors that worry us about the Gardens apart from the possible child abuse angle. For example you do communicate with each other? I believe you're acting as the spokesperson for all the Gardens and obviously this would be impossible if you did not have contact. Hence it is possible that you could liase to drive prices up. And this gives you enormous power. Private individuals in charge of the Gardens have a frankly incredible amount of money and power at their fingertips."_

_"I'm afraid it doesn't work quite like that. We are committed to improving our facilities. The financial rewards of commanding a Garden are fairly modest compared to the amount of time and responsibility required." _

_"But you can't deny that the Gardens could be used against the people. Take Galbadia, for instance. I believe there is a historical precedent.  If someone could take over a Garden, they'd have a lot of power."_

Pause.

"_Seeds are not incorruptible, Ms Trepe. Take Headmaster Martine, for example. I'm told that he used __Galbadia__Garden__ as a tool for the government, which was why they joined with Edea when she became the ambassador."_

_"The Sorceresses Wars are old bones. I don't think I need a history lesson." _

Seifer replaced Hyperion in its sheath and left it on the carpet. He sat on the windowsill, feeling useless, smoking incessantly and nursing his last can of beer until three in the morning, when exhaustion finally took over and he went to bed.  

The worst thing about his permanent insomnia wasn't the dreams, it was the boredom. Seifer had never been much for his own company, but sooner or later you got to a point around four am where nobody else wanted to have a conversation and then you were stuck with yourself.

And he didn't particularly like his own company. After the wars, he'd liked it even less.

Quistis had commented once that he had hidden depths, which wasn't really any kind of news to Seifer. They contained nothing he particularly wanted to float to the surface, and anyway he doubted that she'd meant it. It was just one of those things people said to one another, the kind of thing he'd never got the hang of.

Hidden depths.

He'd never thought Quistis was the kind of person to search for the best in people. Rinoa, maybe, but not her. 

And Seifer was certainly not a rough diamond, though if you bothered to scrape all the crap off you might end up with a working hand grenade

_I'm thinking bullshit._

_And I'm not even drunk._

He slept fitfully, and woke at four-thirty in a sweat with the sheets wrapped around his legs.

There had been a dream.

For a change, he couldn't remember most of it. There had been lots of long, empty corridors. Teeth had featured widely, too. Teeth, and something in his head…something he couldn't get out.

Something like the magic. 

Seifer had told Quistis that GFs fucked with your head and that was why he'd never had anything to do with them. That he didn't want to forget. 

_If you need GFs, using them doesn't make you need them less. You just get to depend on them more_

It had been partly true. Seifer didn't want to depend on anyone except himself.

He'd junctioned a GF only once.

It had been a mistake.

They'd been out on another trip, just him and Fuu and Raijin. Walked a bit, fought some monsters, no big deal. Searching for items, as always. Somewhere along the way one of them had picked up this old lamp.

Raijin, maybe.

There had been a GF. It had been old. And they'd fought it, and he'd won, only to find that he didn't particularly like what he'd invited into his head. There had been a feeling of horrible, pressing weight, and sharp teeth. And knowledge.

_GFs__ only fight because they have to. If their hosts die, without letting them loose, or putting them into something..or someone.. they're finished. _

Seifer had junctioned the Guardian Force for about twenty seconds, (not that he'd been counting) before he'd begun to freak out and Fuujin had had to talk him down.  They'd returned to the Garden as normal, keeping silent among themselves in a let-us-never-speak-of this-again way. Raijin took the lamp along and gave it to Cid, later. Seifer had never bothered finding out what had happened to it, and cared less.

It was almost a relief to find that he could have _normal_ bad dreams

He slept restlessly for the rest of the night, trying not to think about being lost, trapped in the darkness of an empty head as neurones gave up around you.

When he woke, Quistis was still missing. It was early, as usual, before seven. He was still tired, body flooded with exhaustion.

_Nothing new, then.___

 Hyperion gleamed temptingly on the floor next to the window.

_Shit. Fuck. I'm trying to give up doing stuff like this._

Seifer stood for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then went to the wardrobe and began to rifle through his possessions.

It took maybe ten seconds to sort through his clothes. He dressed in a pair of battered jeans and the cleanest T shirt he could find, leaving the others in a heap on the floor.  Most were faded shades of black and grey, apart from the one pair of pink boxers that had somehow got mixed up with Quistis' red bra in the wash, and all were so battered even the local War On Want shop would have thought twice before accepting them. The landlord could keep them, if he dared try repossession.  There was little enough in the flat that wasn't easily disposable.

His rucksack stood against the wall behind the wardrobe. Seifer yanked it towards him and started stuffing the pack with clothes, showing little care for either neatness or folding. He pulled out a small wad of crumpled notes from the rucksack flap and flicked through the notes, swore and stuffed the money into the back pocket of his jeans.

There was enough cash for one single to Velalisier. It would have been better if there had been money for a return ticket, but Seifer reasoned that he could always borrow the money off Quistis, if he met her. Or failing that, he'd have to jump a goods train heading in the right direction.

_Ah, well. Worry about that later._

Clothes packed, he went to the kitchen counter and yanked the chipped left-hand drawer open so hard most of the cutlery fell on the floor with a jangle.   

Seifer selected his knives from the pile. The shortest and sharpest one fitted neatly inside his boot, inside a thin sheath sewn into the lining.  The other two zipped into the side pockets of his rucksack. 

The gunblade slotted neatly into the pocket custom-sewn for it.  It was lucky that SeeDs were expected to carry so much equipment, because the blade was long. Packed vertically, its moulded metal handle nested just inside the rucksack's flap and with practice, it was possible to draw Hyperion straight from the bag. Awkward, it was true, but then Seifer expected to be in crowded areas.  

And he sure as hell didn't want to draw too much attention to himself.

So. Clothes, weapons, those were the two main things taken care of. His cigarettes and lighter were in the pocket of his jeans, brand his favourite Lucky Strikes. 

As an afterthought Seifer fished the last remnants of food from his cupboards. There were the withered remains of some kind of fruit that Quistis had bought when she'd discovered that Seifer's diet consisted mainly of things that came wrapped in newspaper. They went in the bag. The only other items he could find were a couple more cans of soup which he considered adding, possibly as some kind of weapon, but decided against it. He left the things right in the back of the cupboard that appeared to have welded themselves to the shelves, and opened the fridge. Shut it quickly, wincing, before anything escaped. 

Okay. Weapons, clothes, food, money, cigarettes…sorted. 

No knight or samurai had ever organised his equipment with more care.

Seifer gave a last look around the room, pulled his boots on and left, remembering to pick the razorblade from the floor and shove it back into his boot. The door handle seemed to have escaped so he shut the door by hooking two fingers in the hole where it had rested, and pulled.

The streets were almost deserted as he made his way to the station, taking a short detour to miss the police station. He hadn't bothered to check the timetable but as luck would have it, he walked straight onto a train heading up the coast through Trabia Canyon. It didn't leave for another half-hour, but at least he was on it.  

The half hour before its departure was occupied wandering through the train while having 'No Smoking In The Carriages' notices explained to him in three languages by increasingly irate porters. The information just fuelled Seifer's desire to have a cigarette. When he'd got onto the train he hadn't even thought about the Lucky Strikes in his pocket, but the presence of any kind of rules had had its normal effect. Now his brain was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't have a nicotine fix right that minute it was going to die.  And the damn porters were following him….

_How long is this train, anyway…?_

"There's people in there smoking. So how come you can stand here and tell me I can't?"

"That is the first class carriage. Now if sir would like to upgrade his ticket…."

Seifer didn't feel like explaining to the porter that he couldn't afford a first class ticket, could only just afford a third-class single, in fact. "Yeah, right, Fuck you."

He turned away, menacing an old lady with his bag.

It didn't help that the train had a SeeD carriage, right next to the engine behind even the first class car. SeeD compartments had their own beds. He could have got some sleep. And he was pretty sure that SeeDs would be allowed to smoke…

_Like that's going to work…_

Grumbling, holding an unlit cigarette between two fingers, Seifer headed for the carriage furthest away from the SeeD car. The train filled up around him as the engine rumbled into life.

Seifer stood in the passage between two carriages with his rucksack at his feet and smoked his way through his whole packet of cigarettes. When the last one crumbled to ash right down to the filter he stubbed it out on the Rules And Regulations of Safe And Healthy Train Travel pinned to the wall, balled the packet up and tossed it out the window.

His lungs felt raw, nicotine humming in his veins.  He repeated the address discovered while trying his best not to help the police with their enquiries over and over again in his mind, leaning against the door under a sign that read '_Do not lean against doors_.'  Some things were meant to be ignored. 

The train signs were written in three languages: the curly ciphers of traditional Estharian, old fashioned blocky Trabian runes and the common script that everyone used pretty much everywhere, these days. It was the only one Seifer could read.

They were on the border after all, thought thankfully not too close.

There were two reasons why Seifer had stayed in Trabia. First, because you still needed a passport to travel between countries, or at least some form of ID. Secondly, he'd never fancied wearing one of those stupid robes. No matter how much the Estharians protested, they were dresses as far as Seifer was concerned, and the day he voluntarily wore a dress was the day…

Well, it'd be a day to remember, that was for sure.  

He'd given up standing in the aisle and was sprawled out on his bag by the time to train reached Velalisier and the doors hissed open. Seifer was dozing, elbows resting on his knees, and the sudden opening of the door almost caught him by surprise, nearly tumbling him out onto the platform. Would have, in fact, if the hiss of the hydraulics hadn't given him a fraction of a second's warning.

Seifer checked the station name, picked up his bag, earning a barrage of dirty looks from commuters pushing to get out onto the platform, and stepped out.

The town looked familiar, and it was a few seconds before he realised why. Two years ago Balamb forces had visited Dollet to repel Galbadian Army forces from the town. (For a handsome profit, of course, SeeD did nothing without a reason.) It had been Seifer's third and last SeeD test, and one he'd fucked up monumentally. 

Almost as badly as the one before that, when the commanding officer had shouted at him to obey orders and Seifer had told him that he didn't remember anyone telling him not to think and, well, things just went downhill from there and screw the whole 'not answering back' military thing. Or the first exam, the one where he'd found a Behemoth with just the right item he'd needed for an upgrade and finally showed up at the pickup point an hour late, covered in blood that wasn't his own and with two energy crystals burning a hole in his pocket.

Anyway, the town reminded him of Dollet. Cobbled streets, tiled roofs and those weird little flat light fittings set into the streets.

 Seifer hated it on sight.

He bought a map at the station's tourist information kiosk and set off. The address he'd copied off Quistis' files showed up just fine on the map, a large building down near the waterfront.

_Okay…._

It took him a little over ten minutes to find the place.

2 Harbourside, Old City. Velalisier.

He ran the address once more through his mind and looked up. And up, and up…

_This must be it_

It was huge.

Seifer had visualised some old broken-down warehouse, maybe with a few guys wearing sunglasses and suits hanging around outside looking big and obvious. The building was nothing like he'd imagined.

For starters, there was the sheer size of the thing…..

It was a huge wedding-cake confection of a building, the kind that looked as if it had grown rather than being built.  He'd fought monsters that looked less organic. It had probably started out as a rather small building built in traditional southern Trabian style on the edge of a pretty tiled square. The town walls flowed into each side of the building, dropping off on the far side to an almost-sheer cliff with windows set deeply into the rock. Above ground level the building spread out into a Gothic monstrosity, resplendent with flying buttresses, Shumi columns and the odd plastic window frame set incongruously into its fortress-like exterior.  A carved sign was deeply engraved over the front gates, which were heavily locked and barred. _St Jude's __General__Hospital__.___

A battered sign hung outside, with a sticker plastered over it reading CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE with the address of the nearest emergency centre scrawled underneath.  

_This is it?_

_Well, it's the ideal site for a bunch of rebels…shit, you can't call them rebels. It sounds like some bad sci-fi movie. And not terrorists, either, because those fuckers act against civilian targets and not military ones._

_I think the best description's 'asshole'._

He kicked the sign, just for the sake of it, and then had to step hurriedly back as it creaked, sagged, and collapsed into the dust

_Well, one thing's for sure. It hasn't been occupied for a while_

Seifer prowled the outskirts of the building, warily.

There were no other signs of life. A light glimmered wearily in a room on one of the top floors. No goons, no cars, no security.

More importantly, no unlocked doors.

Seifer shaded his eyes against the sun and looked up. No doors, but there was the remnants of some kind of sun lounge on the first floor, just above the carved title. Plus four or five temptingly large windows.

He tucked the map into his pocket.

In the end, it wasn't really a challenge.  The many layers of congealed Gothic decoration on the crumbling sandstone walls made ideal footholds, despite his heavy rucksack. A few people crossed the square behind. Seifer ignored them, and they did likewise.

_If anybody comes running across the square to stop me, I'll know I'm in the right place._

It took him ten minutes of steady, gravity-defying climbing before he gained the first floor. He stood, balancing precariously, on the U of St. Jude's and smashed the window next to the door as quietly as he could manage, groping for the lock.

The door swung outwards and caught him by surprise, giving him a nasty few seconds before he regained his footing and climbed inside, murmuring a few words of magic as he went. 

The door left an arc of clean floor through the dust. The corridor inside was lit with the glow of his spell, and Seifer took a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of junctioning magic again.  It felt as if sparks should be fizzing from his hair, and when he passed the first in a series of cracked and dusty windows he was vaguely surprised that his eyes weren't glowing. Something weird like that.

He kept walking, holding the gunblade up in front of him. Safety off. It was heavy, and he could feel old callouses that had smoothed back into his hands two years ago beginning to reopen. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, it felt familiar.

Seifer's confidence was starting to return as the halls remained resolutely empty.

The hospital had been empty for years, from the look of it.

Very empty, and very large.

However different the various buildings looked like from the outside, inside they all looked the same. After ten minutes, he was hopelessly and completely lost, though he tried not to let it bother him.

The corridors were all identical, tiled in peeling melamine and painted in green institutional shades. A colour coded strip ran down every wall, presumably as some kind of location system. It would have helped if he'd had a map. He was getting an annoying sense of déjà vu that pissed him off no end, flashbacks to a cold winter last season in Trabia.

_Hyne, I hope this mission turns out better…. _

Seifer conscientiously checked every side room and door off the first four corridors.  It took him two hours, but it seemed like six, haunted by the knowledge that if Quistis was gagged or unconscious or Hyne help them, dead, she could be lying behind any one and he wouldn't know.

Almost exactly one hundred and twenty minutes later his temper had burned down to the fuse and Seifer gave up and started looking for signs of recent habitation instead.

The only problem was that there weren't any, or rather, there were, but they were all too old. The smell of disinfectant and plastic permeated every corridor, and there was a thick layer of dust everywhere, coating his shoes and lying thick as snow along the floor.  His boots kicked up little puffs of the stuff as he prowled, intensifying the medical smell.  It left dark footprints along the floor, immediately signifying to any observer with half an eye that someone had passed his way recently, but Seifer couldn't think of any way to hide his tracks.  He couldn't crawl along the ceiling, so why worry?  

He walked through empty cafeterias, their tables chipped and smashed glass counters decorated with streaks of green mildew, equally deserted laundry rooms with dented copper vats and a few worn-our commercial machines untended, and row upon row of empty beds in various stages of dilapidation. 

Junked hospital equipment littered the place, bed frames, weird metal objects Seifer couldn't even begin to guess the function of, peeling cartoon murals in a set of rooms that had to have been the children's ward. These last raised a few more unsettled memories, dusty ghosts rising up from the unswept floor.  Bright lights. Pain.  Stuffy indoor heat, and the voices of lying white-coated adults who always said that what they were going to do wasn't going to hurt a bit.

It always did. 

He'd never liked hospitals, even the first time. The current situation was doing absolutely nothing to improve his opinion of the institutions.  He was tired and hungry and broke and so far the only positive thing he could think to say about his situation was that the hospital was warm and dry and nobody was actually shooting at him.

_Yet.___

Seifer shifted the rucksack on his back and carried on. A few monsters dotted the halls, but nothing too spectacular, more irritating than anything else. The encounters became more frequent as he walked on into the bowels of the old hospital, but the corridors stayed old, dead, and pleasantly cool. There was a faint hum of electricity from deep in the building, but he couldn't seem to locate it. 

More rooms. More junked hospital equipment, More monsters. So far no sign of intelligent life- much less Quistis, whose intellect was so far past intelligence that she wouldn't able to see it with a telescope. 

Seifer paused and turned to investigate a large, silver-flecked pile in the middle of one room, this one an old operating theatre by the holes in the walls where piped air had once flowed in. A large stainless-steel table was overturned in one corner of the room.

He stooped and ran a hand through the heap of metallic objects, hoping for weapons.

They weren't, of course. 

It took Seifer a few seconds to realise that they were old surgical instruments, swept into the centre of the floor. He held one instrument up, turned it over, spun it round, frowned and then tossed it back onto the pile in the middle of the room. Stirring the dump with a scuffed boot toe, he turned round to leave, kicking the dust up into clouds of pale mist as he went.

The dust..

It hung around all the floors in the hospital, thick and velvety. There were monsters in places, so tracks were to be expected, but one thing was bothering him

Monsters didn't wear shoes.

The tracks were scuffed and large, indicating more than one person. There were marks, too as if things had been dragged along the floor. They led in from the door which Seifer had entered, skirted the pile of alligator-dentistry instruments and disappeared under a large and very new blue canvas tarpaulin that hung across one wall.

Seifer took a few cautious steps forwards and stabbed the tip of Hyperion at the corner of the tarpaulin. It fell in a cloud of dust, revealing a pair of doors.

At face value, they resembled a thousand other hospital doors that Seifer had walked straight past while searching for Quistis. Two metres tall, two metres wide, shatter proof glass in two small panels half way up their stainless-steel surface. The handles were chained together by several very thick bicycle locks and the glass windows had been painted black from the inside. 

The line of tracks led right to them. Seifer knelt in the dust and examined them carefully, noting that an equal amount of prints tracked to and from the room.  He stood, jeans coated thickly with dust, and tried the lock, slamming his shoulder against the sheet metal. 

Unsurprisingly, they failed to open

Seifer slung the gunblade over his shoulder and held out his right hand, palm upwards. A dot like molten copper flickered into life on his skin, followed by a leaf-shaped flame that grew larger in seconds. He placed his palm flat against the doors, gripping two chains in his hand. 

There was a poisonous, molten smell and an implosion of heat. The metal glowed cherry red, brightened to orange and then paled around the edges.

Seifer removed his hand, inspected the metal, which was cooling to a rusty red and emitting little _pink pink_ sounds, unshouldered the gunblade in one smooth gesture and brought it around in a slashing circle.

The blade of Hyperion cleaved neatly through the chains.

Basic physics. Quistis would be so proud. Destroy the temper of the metal by heating, allowing the steel to weaken.

_Yeah…don't want to tell her I actually learned anything in those lectures. She'd be smug for days…_

Seifer pushed the door open.

Like all the previous rooms, this one was empty of previous life.  A security camera hung on the wall, dusty and dead with its electronic innards trailing down the wall.

It was what lay on the floor that interested him.

Weapons.  Lots of them. 

The armaments were a weird mix of smart looking but cheap new weapons, junked second-hand old military gear and Heath Robinson-contraptions. Crossbows that looked as if they'd been made by a mad scientist out of bedsprings, swords, assault rifles, ex-police riot shields, ex-military helmets dating back to the first Sorceress Wars, shotguns, pistols, machetes and a couple of iron bars from a construction site.  

Seifer picked the nearest gun up, sighted along its barrel and then threw it down in disgust. Cheap crap, rifles with fuck-me sights and pearl handled knives, stuff that looked pretty but otherwise didn't do a damned thing.

He did a brief count and raised an eyebrow.  There was enough kit in the narrow room to arm at least fifty people to the teeth. 

By Seifer's definition of 'well armed' this meant that over a hundred and fifty average soldiers could have been equipped from the items lying in tidy stacks along the walls of the room. They were neatly arranged on wooden pallets, some sheeted with obviously second-hand tarps.  All were clean and new, although the dust tracks on the floor indicated that no one had visited for a few days at least.  When he flicked out the chamber of one pistol, it came out easily, oiled blue and sleek.  The serial numbers had been filed off.

A quick search in four ancient, unlocked filing cabinets lining the walls revealed several boxes that looked as if they might contain plastic explosive. Seifer didn't' shake them just in case. A large explosion would alert everyone to fact that he was there, and he wouldn't be in much condition to fight them when they came.  He wasn't going to help Quistis by being turned into hamburger steak.

He selected an automatic pistol from the guns lining the wall, found some clips for it and then flipped the safety on and tucked the pistol into the back of his jeans. The gunblade was heavy and reassuring in his hand, but there was no point in being unprepared.  Equally, there was no point in shooting himself in the ass, which was the reason for the safety catch.

The level of Seifer's concern cranked itself up another few notches.  Whoever these people were, they had some serious hardware.  On the bright side, he was now pretty much sure that he'd come to the right place.  No one with that much equipment could be planning anything good.

So. Weapons, but no sign of Quistis.

He tracked the dust prints back through the entrance, pulling the door shut behind him. The chain dangled from its handles, uselessly. Seifer tied the ends together in a loose and shabby knot that he knew wouldn't fool anyone for any amount of time, but it made him feel like maybe no one would notice.

He wrapped the last length of chain round the handles and slouched off to check out the next corridor.   

Current reading: Gwyneth Jones' Bold As Love trilogy (and very good it is, too) featuring a guy very much like Seifer if he was more into electric guitars and less into sharp, pointy objects. Fic refs: St Jude is, of course, the patron saint of lost causes. There's more, but I'm tired. 

Reviews:

Breaker-one: For some reason I liked the first bit of ch 15 more…        I had this idea and wrote the last part ages ago, and then the plot morphed and it didn't really fit in, so I had to make it. The whole last bit got rewritten about two hours before I posted, which might be a reason why I dig the first part. Though Seifer is being more than usually introspective, for reasons of pacing and plot development 

DBZ Fanfiction Queen: Ta. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out what the point was you noticed. Mood; still stressed. Exams in three weeks, dammit. 

Ghost 140: The 'sychological- spelling mistake was in fact deliberate. Do you really think Seifer can spell? And it was HIS writing.

Quistis88: Thanks a lot ( as usual)

Seatbelts; Glad to have you both back on board, guys. All will be revealed in the next couple of chapters, I promise.

Seventhe: Yes, there is shudder PLOT rearing its ugly head. The sex will come later, but will a fat cat do for kittens?

Verdanni: Bad!Seifer is indeed sexy. Other versions include EvilClown!Seifer, TransvestiteHooker!Seifer, PostTrial!Seifer( a small and smoking crater) PissedOffGunpointBunny!Seifer(don't ask),  AmbiguouslyGay!Seifer and Assless !Seifer (it's been sued off)…

Wonderful Failure: Wow, thanks! I don't think I'd have thought of writing Seifer/Quistis fic if I hadn't read it BEFORE I played the game. Because Seifer's a twat. And then I got them in my head and I just couldn't let it go..

Ta, everyone. I've been through a couple of rough spots in the last week and reviews make me happy.

hugs                 

kate

(he's not intelligent, but we like the way he dances)


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Protest Song

Chapter Seventeen: Protest Song

Can anyone make a difference any more?

Can anyone write a protest song?

Manic Street Preachers: Let Robeson Sing

Seifer walked through deserted rooms, following the tracks in the dust thick as sugar icing that coated the floor. They led in the opposite direction to the hidden weapons room, clear prints of five or six people in cheap softsoled trainers.

He traced them a hundred metres through the hospital and round a corner before they abruptly vanished, fading bafflingly into undisturbed dust that lay like a shawl along the floor.

Seifer swore with feeling.  He knelt down on the floor, inspecting the scuff marks. One perfect print faded in mid-step, the heel of the shoe engraved with such clarity that he could read the brand name. The rest just stopped on the middle of the floor, and a quick search for hidden trapdoors, moving wall panels or secret magic objects yielded nothing more than spiderwebs.

_It's like someone just yanked them right out of their boots… _

Seifer winced and looked up reflexively, but the polystyrene ceiling tiles appeared undisturbed. He cast back and then round, the back of his neck feeling acutely vulnerable the whole time as he kept one eye on the floor and the other on the roof.

_They can't have walked along the ceiling. I'm bound to pick them up eventually._

The next corridor was empty. 

So was the second.

The third contained a Buel, which did nothing to help Seifer's mood.  The relatively weak monster didn't manage to break his defences (though to give it some credit it wasn't equipped with either a medium sized military academy or a missile launcher), or cause any serious harm, but he was painfully aware that he was running out of time.

The fourth corridor ended in a dead end, a brick wall with one tall window that looked out onto blue sky.

Seifer unshouldered his rucksack and took a drink from his bottle of water. It was warm and tasted of plastic, but so far he'd found no more. Sinks littered the hospital but they were all dry, broken or housing monster nests, their plugholes clogged with debris and the basins cracked and filled with dust.

He put the bottle back and inspected the Circlet the Buel had left, wiping it free of sticky congealing blood.

_Hmm.__ Not much use without a GF. What the hell, I'll keep it.  Maybe Quistis can use it…_

He laid Hyperion carefully on the windowsill, feeling the grainy stone catch painfully at his blisters, and looked out.

It was a pleasant day outside, as far as he could see through the grimy window. Ships bobbed on the ocean, no doubt crewed by people with more sense than him.

It was a long way down.

He could faintly see the perimeter walls spreading out to either side before they followed the contours of a hill back in towards around town, The hospital had been built right on to the walls and the walls skirted the edge of a sheer cliff, several hundred feet high. Seifer stared down it, noting the remains of a water gate right at the bottom, no doubt used to unload hospital supplies back when the place had been in business.

Above the water gate the cliff was pocked by square holes where windows had been hacked out of the stone as the hospital spread down into the rock. Old buildings evolve, and by his best estimate the original building had to date back pre Garden.

Seifer, by his reckoning, was still on the first floor, which meant that there were at least four above him and who knew how many below.

_I should find some stairs. And then I can wander about, just on a different floor._

_This is getting boring. I need a map._

Frustrated, Seifer smashed the glass with the flat of Hyperion and watched the sparkling splintered fragments cascade down to the rocks far below. He leaned out as far as he dared and craned his head to each side carefully, looking for any signs of habitation.

There were none.

It wasn't a surprise. Apart from the mysteriously disappearing footprints and the weapons, there were just too many monsters for the hospital to be inhabited.

_It's all to shit.  They should have taped it up better, if they ever do want to rebuild this place they're going to have to spend some serious money to clean it up. Grats, Creeps, Buels and just about pretty much any other monster you want._

_They've got to be breeding._

Far above Seifer's head a lone pipe belched pale grey smoke into the cloudless sky.

He listened. No sound, save for the unpleasant slithering noises of what was probably a pair of Creeps one floor down.

_Hey, if I was a bunch of lame-ass bargain basement revolutionaries with a captive SeeD, where would I hide?_

He took one last glance around and pulled his head back into the corridor. It was dark inside, lit with a nasty greyish light broken in pools by windows and, in some cases, shafted skylights that didn't quite make his witchlight redundant.  

_This is a waste of time._

_I bet there's no one round for miles…_

Seifer would not have been surprised to learn that he was, in fact, dead wrong.

There was another person within about a hundred feet of his present position, and closing. Currently she was, like most of Trabia's population, blissfully unaware of his presence

She was walking a similar long dark hallway, and thinking about her dead father.

Her name was Nia.

Her father had been a minor journalist, one of the old-fashioned kind that wore vests and drank a lot.  On good days he hung around events and conventions waiting for something to happen. On bad days he made it up.

He was dead, now, of course.

She'd been out working at the copy shop and returned to find him lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor, quite dead.  She'd smashed the window to get in while the baby screamed bloody murder in her cot, not understanding why her grandda, the kindly old man who looked after her in the daytime, couldn't come.

It had been a strange feeling, as if she was sitting outside her own body watching somebody else check the old man's pulse, close his eyes and phone for the ambulance and then the undertaker.

Pulmonary embolism, the hospital had said with brisk regret. Infected liver. So sorry, nothing we can do.

After that whatever prospects she'd once entertained for herself had somehow seemed unimportant, rinsed down the plughole as she scrubbed the old man's blood off the walls and floor with a rag that soon because the colour of old wine.  She'd sold the flat not long after and had been immured in the copy shop ever since, until her skin became stained with toner no matter how hard she rubbed it and she began to hate the smell of hot paper.

She booked a childcare place for her daughter Fiorinda, went on working and mourning the dead.

She hadn't even known the old man had had liver problems.  Nia could imagine exactly why her father had kept it quiet.  He'd never liked causing a fuss. The hospital had said the ulcers must have taken months to develop, years even.  They left it unsaid that maybe something could have been done if she'd noticed earlier, and she was grateful for that, at least.

Like she would ever stop blaming herself, anyway.

Six months after her father's death Nia was working in the Copy Cat in Velalisier when a man had come in bearing a load of leaflets in to be photocopied.  They'd got talking and then he'd brought another packet the next week, and the next. They'd chatted each time.  Nothing sexual, he wasn't her type and the birth of Fio had made her swear off romance for life, but she'd been flattered by the attention. His name was Asbel, and he was a politician or something. Nia told him she didn't pretend to know anything about politics, but she was secretly impressed.

He took her out for coffee the next day and they chatted about her daughter. She let him know she wasn't interested and he smiled and said it didn't matter and that he had something to show her.

Nia, wise in the ways of strangely vague 'surprises' and men who told her than a four year-old kid daughter didn't matter, left abruptly and hoped that she'd never see him again.

She'd been surprised to see him the next week and the next, bearing more leaflets and still ready to talk.  

The fifth consecutive week he gave her a leaflet and asked her to read it. She took it and smiled and said she would, meaning none of it.

It had been three days later, while she'd been doing the washing, that Nia had pulled the scrap of cheap paper out of her shorts pocket and unfolded it.

It had been loosely worded propaganda. Propaganda about a place called Garden that Nia had heard of before, always in carefully worded press releases with pictures of grateful smiling civilians. There had been a big fuss about them two years ago, but she didn't read the paper much. What impression she'd got from the media had persuaded her that the Gardens and the strangely named SeeDs were firmly on the side of the angels.

The leaflet challenged all that.

It had been a weird and faintly unnerving feeling.

The leaflet said that the SeeDs were rich and ruthless fighters and that they recruited child-soldiers who didn't know any better to fill their ranks, They'd named some of the monsters the children had to fight and Nia, who had been born in Velaliser in the same house she now inhabited thirty six years later and who'd never seen any monsters at all, ever, was shocked.

So when Asbel had returned to the shop and asked her to join his discussion group that planned to abolish the Gardens and their child-farming, she agreed. After all, she'd heard about the resistance groups in Timber and thought it would be fun.

In a way, it had.

She was invited to their base in this old abandoned hospital that had been empty for years and had her background checked (Hyne knew what that was but it didn't hurt). Her jobs were simple. She brought the more active members of the group hot meals and did paperwork and copied leaflets.

And, like now, she did the patrols. 

Asbel told them all that they were necessary to protect the hospital from Dangerous Infiltrators (the capital letters fell neatly in front of each word). The way he phrased it made the patrols exciting for a while, and then, as the weeks went on and no one seemed to take any notice of their activities, boring, and finally, redundant. 

Their leader and a select small group of rebels had carefully cleared their part of the hospital of monsters, locking the inside of all the connecting doors with heavy chains and double padlocks that Ras, one of the men, had found for half-price at Hardware House. The locks kept their part of the hospital monster free, while allowing observation of all other areas.

Thankfully, the only creatures in their part of the building were the carnivorous, grimy pigeons that infested most corners of the base, and the CLA had to learn to live with those. The only monster-infested part of the hospital they ever had to enter were the corridors surrounding their weapons room, and Asbel always went there accompanied by seven or eight heavily armed men.  The monsters were better protection than locks, he always said, but they'd had a few left over from Ras's bulk-buy, and so they'd added some chains just to be sure.

Nia had visited just once, to pick up the snub-nosed Jackal revolver she wore out of a box of similar guns.  It was heavy, ugly and greasy with oil, yet there was something she liked about the gun.

Maybe it was the danger, the glamour, associated with a weapon. She'd posed like a Timber girl soldier a few times in the cracked bathroom mirror when nobody else was looking.  Only a select few were allowed proper weapons, the very fact she carried one was a mark of Asbel's esteem.

Privately, Nia thought their leader's esteem had more to do with the fact she worked in a copy shop than anything else.  To be proper revolutionaries, they'd needed more leaflets and posters, which she smuggled in after hours to the Copy Cat where she worked. The leaflets had grown more threatening as the weeks went by with no reply from the Gardens and then finally they'd been abandoned in favour of more 'direct' tactics.

Nia was secretly relieved at this. Manufacturing excuses to explain the extra hundred-weights of paper that unaccountably kept disappearing from the shop's stores had been hard, and the machines had been used so often they broke down all the time.  It has caused more than one staff assault by thesis-clutching grad students.

That wasn't to say that she agreed with their new tactics, because violence worried her, but there had been something so deliciously secretive about planning the campaign. 

The hits had been months on paper. Paper which had been provided, free of charge, by her, because most of the group's funds had been taken up with bribes and expert's fees. Even Asbel, who everyone knew had money, hadn't expected it to be quite so expensive, but apparently anarchy didn't come cheap.

Nia didn't really approve of violence, but their leader made it all seem so logical.  Obviously the Gardens didn't respond to reasoned arguments, which was to be expected of blood-hungry mercenaries. They'd been forced to hit back the only way they'd understand.

Striking a blow for the oppressed, was how Asbel phrased it. 

No one, certainly not Nia, had asked just how smart striking a blow for the oppressed when the oppressed in question inhabited their target was, but their leader had addressed the question anyway.  "Maybe it'll stop people from sending their children there."

  "People send their children?" she asked, horrified. "Actually send? Volunteer them?" Thinking of Fio, all the time.

Asbel made an impatient gesture with one hand. "Yes, yes. Stupid fools who've been impressed by all the public relations and bright glossy photographs. But it isn't them we're bothered about.  We're all about the kids that don't choose to be there." 

"But they all seem quite happy to be there." one of the newer members added.  One of the newbies, no doubt.

"In the pictures." Nia added darkly.  You could make a photograph say anything you wanted, she'd learned that much through working at a copy shop for far too long, so painting in smiles on the faces of a few kids and airbrushing out some bruises would be a cinch.

Asbel gave her an approving look. "They're being oppressed."

"Wouldn't it hurt?"

"But they're too oppressed to know they're being oppressed. The Gardens don't tell them the real purpose of SeeD until they're fully indoctrinated. You've all heard the quote 'Give me a child until it is seven and it is mine for life.'  Garden's the living proof."

"But they don't take children as young as seven. You have to be at least….".

"That's beside the point.  What this all comes down to is that the Gardens are a dumping ground for every orphanage on three continents and we're here to stop that happening."

Here to stop it. 

Here to defend their base from Dangerous Infiltrators, that was her hobby now.  It didn't pay as well as photocopying, but it was quietly boring in a monotonous way. Other people had asked for reassignment but she liked the quiet.  It let her think, away from everybody with no crying child or people asking her questions or bothering her with paperwork that they didn't want to fill in. And most importantly, no photocopying.

Most days she did her shift in the morning before she went to the Copy Cat, and then again in the evening, a part-time revolutionary. During the patrols she thought of nothing, her brain falling into a comfortable rhythm in time with the tread of her trainers on the dusty floor and the slight echo of her breathing. 

Nia came to the second window on her route, a grimy half-circle of glass set into the wall of the old reception.  She leant carefully and conscientiously against the glass, angling her gaze left and then right down the hall.  As usual, there was nobody there.

She hadn't expected anybody. 

 The third window was a fair way away.  She stuffed her hands into her shorts pockets and set off towards it, thanking Hyne that she didn't even have to worry about finding her way any more.  The corridors were seriously disorientating.  There had been some kind of colour coding taped onto the walls when the hospital was still open but it was long gone, along with everything that was worth anything or could be carried.  The halls that the CLA used to keep an eye on their private empire had once been used to run laundry trucks and ferrying hospital workers between section to section without disturbing the nurses.

 Her gun bounced uncomfortably against her hip.  It had a neat little button-down lid that kept the dust off, made of the same shiny leather as the holster.  Nia cleaned it with shoe polish once a week and carefully wiped the gun over with an oiled rag without taking it apart.  A box of spare bullets was stuffed into the pocket of her shorts. The shorts were her mission clothes, khaki, sale price, and she'd bought them especially because of the deep pockets and because the khaki reminded her of soldiers on television.  She would have secretly liked a shiny silver helmet with red studs, or shoulder pads like pan lids.  Stuff she could clean with polish, at the same time as her gun.

Her legs were beginning to ache. Nia mentally added shinpads to the list.  They'd look a bit silly with her shorts and tennis shoes, but who cared?

It wasn't like she needed armour, anyway. The gun was enough.

She could see the paler rectangle on the floor up ahead that marked the third window.  The third, fourth, and fifth were close together, with the sixth and last a few hundred metres away.  Her shoes echoed off the peeling floor as she watched the square come closer.

The nearest window was a rough rectangle that looked into an old hospital ward.

Nia gave it a cursory glance as she walked past.  There was a man fighting a Grat in the room. The next episode of Princess Warrior was on at seven and she wanted to get home in time to watch it after she picked Fio up from playgroup.  Princess Warrior was her favourite TV sho-    

She was several metres past the window when the implications of what she'd just seen caught up with her and she stopped dead.

_There's a monster in the room. Fighting. With someone._

_There's no one else in the hospital, I know there's no one else in the hospital._

_There can't be anyone.  _

_There might be someone, otherwise what's the point of me doing this…_

_There can't be anyone, but I better go back and check anyway. _

_It's just my mind playing tricks. _

Nia placed one hand on the wall and carefully unbuckled the flap on her gun.  It made her feel safer almost immediately and gave her the confidence to creep back down the corridor.  Stopping, she carefully poked her head round the corner of the window.  Ear close to the pane, she heard a funny noise.

The room in front of her was old and dusty, like any other room in the hospital.  It was large and painted pale green, with a few metal-frame beds pushed to one wall. There was a faint layer of slime on the glass that gave everything a yellowish tinge.

The Grat was a sickly yellow blob, but Nia had seen plenty of Grats in the hospital, they grew in the warm moist corridors like mushrooms in dim light. Facing the Grat was a tall, yellow-haired man, dressed in dark clothes.  Even allowing for the weird sickly gleam the fungus imparted to her view, she could see that he was carrying a weapon. She couldn't make it out properly through the crusted glass, but it looked like some kind of gun or something.

Nia swallowed.  Panic rushed up to fill her completely, leaving her hands shaking uncontrollably against the window.

_This isn't right. There's no one here, they said there was no one here, oh, Hyne, what if there's more of them. More people coming. I can't cope._

_I need help._

_I can't talk, they might hear me talking, they might be monitoring the radio transmissions._

_They can't do that, can they? They…? Whoever it is, just some lunatic, someone with a deathwish, it doesn't have to be anything important, not on my watch..I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation…_

Nia glanced nervously up and down the corridors, her imagination filling them with black-uniformed commandoes smashing through the windows, rushing the base and holding everyone at gunpoint. 

She touched the radio mike clipped to her collar. It was a new model, the kind without wire, and small enough to fit into the palm of her hand.  The reception was poor, but at least the radio waves could be easily picked up. Communication would have been impossible a few years ago. Nia supposed they could thank the SeeDs for that, at least. She flicked it on, muffling the speaker in her T -shirt.

"Come in, Eagle. This is N2. Do you read me? Over?"

There was a hiss of static, and then a faint voice. '–e-ead-ou, ennn-Over'

Nia felt like hugging the microphone.  She clutched it harder in one hand. "There's someone in the hospital. Do you read me? There's someone in the hospital. I need backup. Are you all right? I…"

"Ennn-ou, situation-…-esent, over."

"I can't hear you! Tell me what I should do!"

'outine-ormal, enn-ou? Continue. Over and out."

Nia pressed the button several more times. More static.

Continue? Had they heard what she was saying? Did they care?

Maybe it wasn't anything to worry about.  Maybe it was some kind of drill.

She dithered, paralysed.

The man in front of her must be a spy.  Or a soldier. Or a complete idiot. Maybe all three..

No one in their right mind would want to enter the old monster-infested hospital without a very good reason. She just hoped it wasn't the obvious.

It had been her idea to spread the rumour that the hospital was haunted, and anyway these days most people didn't wander around abandoned places. Wandering was not a survival trait in a post Lunar Cry world haunted by monsters that could rip off your head just as soon as look at you.

Nia swallowed, counted to ten, and then peered carefully round the corner at the man.

He looked like a tramp in his tattered clothes and ex-military rucksack and boots.  The only thing that stuck out was the sword.

To be honest, it was hard to miss. Nia doubted that she'd even be able to pick it up.

It certainly wasn't any make she'd seen before, but then she'd never made a close study of weaponry until recently.  The object it most resembled was the weapons of some Galbadian soldiers she'd seen years back in a promotional leaflet. Only instead of gunmetal grey, this sword was black, with a single shining silver edge. From the shelter of the window, it looked as if the shadows had come to life to slash at the flabby spotted bulk of the monster. 

The man finished off the Grat in two quick swings, puncturing its fleshy body like a sack filled with custard.  He then bent down and started to rifle through the carcass, elbow –deep in sticky liquefying green goo.  He searched methodically, from the head end - if Grats had heads, which Nia doubted - towards its bulbous and mushroom like feet.

Around the navel (though of course Grats didn't have navels because they sprouted instead of being born like proper people) he grunted and yanked his fist out of the body. It came loose with a slurp. The man didn't seem to care about the mess.  He wiped his hands on his trousers and opened his fist to reveal two shining green stones each about the size of a small orange.  They were checked quickly and then stowed away in a corner of his rucksack.

Nia stifled a wince.  The idea of violence was fine, but the sight of it in front of her made her feel sick.  Striking a blow for justice shouldn't be accompanied by blood and intestines.

The closest she had ever got to disembowelling anything with her shiny Jackal revolver was the pop star poster Ras had hung up on the wall of their common room, a space that doubled as impromptu sleeping quarters for whoever was on night duty, war table for important meetings and Nia's office, when she had paperwork to do.  Rebelling took so much paperwork, sometimes.

She turned her head away from the Grat blood and stared resolutely at the wall.

Not that Grats had blood, but the messy green goo running from its headless body looked just as unpleasant, if not more so.  It didn't resemble organic matter at all.

Seifer's mood, never particularly sunny, was darkening with each step.  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet, but he couldn't be bothered to stop and fish out a piece of mummified fruit from the cavernous depths of his rucksack. He pressed on, searching.  
_This is all her fault_

He'd been there for hours, seemed like. Hours with no sign of Quistis, nothing apart from more corridors and more monsters. Corridors and monsters, he was starting to discover, got very old, very quickly.

He almost regretted not asking Quistis for a GF. Preferably one who had learned Enc-None. The corridors were swarming and the oppressive dim hot surroundings were beginning to get on his nerves.

_Now is not the right time to discover you're claustrophobic, Almasy.. _

He wiped Grat blood from Hyperion's blade off onto his trousers, regretting it instantly as the liquid began to seep through the cloth of his faded jeans.

It had been something like the third Grat he'd killed.  The battles were too frequent, and they took up too much of his time.

He started whistling the first few lines of a popular marching song from Galbadia. To the casual observer, the tune was the same as a popular Northern Trabian ballad called 'My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean' but the words running through Seifer's head as he whistled quietly were somewhat different.

'My brother's a missionary worker

He saves fallen women from sin

For five gil he'll save you a redhead

My God how the money rolls in…'

He started on the second verse, the one about the grandparents, with slightly les enthusiasm and then gave up reluctantly. The dark dust-shrouded corridors seemed to swallow the sound up.

_A GF would make things so much quicker _a small traitor voice whispered in the back of his mind

_No. Dammit. No forgetting. No sharp claws in my brain. No instant endorphin power-rush. No GFs. I don't need anything to guard my back.._

_Where the hell is she?_

_If she's in trouble, they'll regret it._

_Peaceful protestors?__ Peaceful my ass. Just let me make sure she's all right and get her out of here and they can go right back to blowing things up before Balamb comes in like a ton of bricks and annihilates the lot of them._

_Good bloody riddance._

By the time Nia was paying attention again, the man was almost out of sight along one corridor.  She whispered a quick prayer to Hyne that he was heading the way she thought and raced down the corridor to the next viewing window. 

Her breath misted the glass as she arrived there slightly ahead of the man and ducked down, keeping out of sight. She was getting fat and unfit, middle age creeping up at last. 

_Should exercise more.___

This window was larger and would keep the man in sight for a good period of time  It was thickly dotted with mould, which gave an imperfect view of the proceedings, but the poor view made her feel safer. The glass had wire mesh sealed into it, the kind that made it either shatterproof or unbreakable, Nia couldn't remember which.  She hoped it was unbreakable, personally.   

Her hand stole again to the radio. Nia pressed the Send button. An second answering hiss of static greeted her as she shaded the set with her hand, trying to muffle the sound.  Her back was beginning to ache from crouching on the floor, eyes blurred behind a rack of glass sample bottles that someone had nailed over the other side of the window. Sweat ran uncomfortably down her neck and soaked the collar of her loose shirt.

'Come in. This is N2. Reading?'

There was no sound.

Nia sighed and tried again.

'N2 reporting, do you read me? Over?'

Nothing.

She sighed for a second time, hard enough to stir the dust on the floor, and carefully clipped the mike back to her collar. It figured.  They were probably busy with the SeeD. The radio contact had always been erratic at the best of times.  It still worried her, but it felt better now that she knew what to do. Continue. Watch. Observe.

She dithered for a minute, waiting for the man to catch up to the window. He wasn't hurrying, or rather he had the look of someone who had started out walking fast and then had been driven by circumstances to slow down.

_Run_, she mouthed through the window. 

Even if he was an infiltrator, anyone with half a brain knew that blood and ichor and sweat just attracted more monsters.  Usually, the only sensible course after one battle was to retreat.  The scent drew most monsters like blood attracted sharks.

Nia tapped the mike again. It responded with a sharp whine. 

"Come on, tell me what to do….."

_I don't think I can deal with seeing someone getting chopped into bits right in front of me._

_You won't have to_, her brain replied caustically. _They'll probably eat him first…_

"Gross".

Nia spoke the last word, maybe a little louder than she'd intended

Through the window, the man's eyes flicked up.  Nia automatically flattened herself to the ground, inwardly sighing at the damage the thick layer of antiseptic-smelling floor dust wreaked on her dark shirt. A few seconds later she cautiously raised her eyes above the level of the sill. The feeling of panic had solidified somewhere above her navel, and was busy making her every move feel terribly wrong.

Thankfully the man's attention had shifted. He was staring straight ahead. Nia automatically followed his gaze and had to stop herself from exclaiming as a flicker of movement came from her extreme right. The shelf in front of her began to shake, juddering up and down in time to a rhythm echoed in the suddenly fearful beating of her heart.

No more than a few metres ahead, a large animal turned from a T –junction , part of the rabbit warren of corridors that made up the forbidden zone of the hospital.  Hiding behind the glass bottles, Nia laid her cheek against the glass and squinted.

_Damn._

The monster lumbering towards her was enormous. Its wings raked the polystyrene tiles of the ceiling, raising each up in a miniature wave as it passed below. 

Even Nia, an urbanite to the core, could tell that it was half-grown. Not even a small adult Ruby Dragon could fit into the hospital corridors.

Trapped, the animal had a caged kind of grace. Through the stained window she could see sores and wounds on its wings where the hospital beams had raked it. Razor-edged scales dangled from its underbelly.

_It's still beautiful_, part of her mind squealed.

The rest of her just wanted to run and hide. There was a kind of paralysing fear radiating from the animal. Worse, unlike the Grat, this monster was clearly, obviously intelligent. Even with its eyes hidden beneath fringes of tufted feathers, there was intent in its movements.

Nia didn't doubt that it wanted to get out.

She wondered what had brought it here. There were large monsters in the hospital but she'd never seen a Ruby Dragon before.  Maybe it had somehow got in through a hole in the roof, months ago, and then become trapped as it grew, unable to find an exit. Maybe there was some other entrance they didn't know about.  She seemed to remember someone telling her about a way up from the sea shore, some private water-gate or something.

The dragon didn't look like it was thriving.

_Run_, she told the man again, silently.

The dragon tossed back its shaggy mane, peered at its opponent with one beady bloodshot eye, and howled. The noise was deafeningly loud in the enclosed space.

The bottles in front of Nia shattered, tumbling glass shards to the floor.

The intruder didn't run away as any normal person should have but instead leaned against the wall and casually shrugged one shoulder from the rucksack straps, letting it drop to the ground. He kicked it out the way, and Nia jumped at the noise as it landed with a small thud against the opposite wall.

She looked back at the monster, taking in its pitiful yet still threatening appearance. Now that she examined it closer, one wing was definitely deformed, scabbed over with scar tissue that bound the membrane and probably prevented it from ever opening properly. The dragon's crest was dull and shaggy, ribs clearly visible under its scales.

_It's hungry._

Her palms were damp, mouth dry. 

_I hope the glass really is unbreakable….._

Nia wondered whether to leave, complete the rest of her patrol, and return later, just to make sure that the dragon had dealt with the intruder. Even half-starved, a dragon was more than a match for any one person.  Especially half-starved, if you really thought about it.

And since it looked as if the man was going to be so stupid as to try and fight it, it was a fair bet that she wouldn't have to make that call after all.

The dragon raised one clawed paw and lunged into the floor, claws scraping great raised gouges in the lino. It rocked back and forwards, half-opening its wings to expose the orange membranes, crest rising in anticipation.

The man raised the sword straight out in front of him.  Nia noticed that it didn't have a proper handle like she'd expected. It looked more like a gun, like the handle of the revolver she still held in her hand. A gun with some kind of blade attached to the end. The blade had holes in it, not like a proper sword at all.

All in all, she decided, it was very disappointing. The swords she saw on TV were so much better, bright shining blades with jewelled pommels and rows of mystic inscriptions twining round their leather-wrapped hilts. Not some kind of bargain basement special with _holes_ in and Grat goop still drying on its edge.

She noted dispassionately, as the man took a swing at the dragon's leathery hide, that it didn't even seem that good at cutting things. Not proper things, anyway. Grats were different. More soggy for starters.

Nia knelt down on the floor and watched the fight.

It started like some kind of dance, like the boxers she'd seen on TV. The man held the sword warily in front of him, staring the dragon right in the fringe to see how it was reacting. The monster hissed like a boiling kettle, swelled its sides, turned an even brighter red and rocked hypnotically. Saliva dripped from its jaws and corroded a small pool in the eroding linoleum floor. Its forepaws padded restlessly up and down, like a cat's.

It was a good couple of minutes before the dragon pounced. Nia's feet were slowly going to sleep under her, abused thigh muscles screaming for relief. She shifted her position, glanced down at her watch for a second, and nearly missed the dragon's move. 

So, from the look of it, did the intruder.

One second the dragon was slowly swaying backwards and forwards, tail lashing behind it and the next it had somehow travelled a foot down the corridor. Its head snaked out, missing the man by inches with a hollow clack as its jaws closed on empty air.  The lunge must have caught its wings somewhere high up in the roof, because there was an audible crack from the ceiling. Its thin chest heaved in and out like a bellows, sucking in air.

The intruder retaliated just as quickly.  She hadn't known a person could move that fast. The tip of the sword flicked in a circle and traced a thin red line against one of the dragon's paws. It looked as if he'd aimed for the vulnerable yellow underbelly of the beast, but in the corridor, there was only one way to attack, and that was face-on.  If the dragon stood still, then its neck and throat would have been easy to slice open, but it was considerably more of a chore to evade the long head and viciously clawed forepaws.  Like the rest of its body, they were covered with hard shiny scales that looked almost ceramic.

 Nia wondered absently if something like a can-opener would be any use before the terror kicked back in.

What if the dragon saw her?  What if the man saw her? What if one person wasn't enough to fill it up?

It was rather a large dragon, after all. 

Nia pressed her face back to the window, suddenly feeling that whatever she did was going to be the wrong decision. She studied the intruder with care.  If it hadn't been am impossibility, she would have said that he was grinning.

The dragon hissed even louder. If it sounded like a kettle before, this time it was boiling over.  It raised one forepaw and took a heavy slash at the man, who ducked and raised the sword to block the blow. Just as the claws came crashing down he placed his other hand on the flat of the blade and slid out from under it, swiping the sword blade up so that the dragon's scaly footpad landed squarely on its edge.

The dragon's hiss changed into a full-scale howl.  It reared up on its hind legs with a thud that made the whole floor shake and spread its wings, roaring. The impact brought half of the ceiling down with it and whited out the scene for a minute in swirling flakes of polystyrene. Through the clouds Nia saw a long, red, horselike head, black mane flying, snatch a piece of ceiling tile from the air and gulp it down. .

_It's really hungry. Five minutes, max._

_ It won't even bother to chew. And then it can use the sword to pick its teeth._

When the view cleared completely, the dragon was standing on three legs and limping.

Seifer wiped sweat from his face with his free hand. His muscles burned, salt and smoke stinging his eyes as he glared at the seven-foot tall dragon in front of him. One of its legs wasn't working properly thanks to his last attack, but it had three left, and that was still one more than him.

_I don't think anyone's ever defeated a Ruby Dragon solo…means I better find a way real fucking fast._

The dragon snarled, noise deafening in the close confines of the corridor. The cramped conditions only made it look more out of place. Seifer watched it, warily.

_Stupid.___

_Yeah, so what the fuck else is new?_

Despite the clear pointlessness of the battle he couldn't remember a time when he'd been near so happy. Not since the winter in Trabia, certainly. Nothing between him and almost certain death except one Fira and three feet of sharpened adamantine and the hum of adrenaline in his blood..

_Do this hero thing and go after the girl, survive two years of every fucking merc in the three continents gunning for my ass, and then get KO'd by a stupid damn half starved ruby dragon that shouldn't even be here…I'd have to junction a Phoenix Down so I can bring her back when she kills herself laughing._

_Should have known Squall's the only one who's allowed to be the hero…_

The Ruby Dragon shook its front paw, scattering smoking drops of blood over the torn shreds of polystyrene roof tiles. Some spontaneously ignited, adding to the reek of smoke and burning plastic that already filled the halls. Seifer masked his face with his free hand and coughed.

_It's going to take me _hours_ to kill this._

And then the noise of the fight would inevitably draw more monsters. Sooner of later, he was just going to get too tired to fight…

_Hey, I survived one crisis and learnt just enough to survive the next. I can get through this._ _I_'_ll find her soon. Or if the worse comes to the worse, some safe place to hole up and rest for a while._

It was beginning to dawn on Seifer that his rescuing idea might not have been the wisest of plans.

Plus, he kept getting this weird feeling that somebody was watching him….and that was just stupid.

Nia hid, and watched.

The man rested against the opposite wall, facing the monster. The bevelled edge of his sword was thick with dragon blood. Without taking his eyes from the beast, he wiped it on his trouser leg where it left dark wet stains.  There was plaster all over his clothes, but he seemed unhurt.

_He's a freaking lunatic. Even if he kills it, there'll probably be another monster round the next corner._

The dragon bent its head, licked at its wound and howled again.  Thick strands of blood and saliva dripped from its jaws. It dipped its head and seemed to wait for a few seconds.  Nia squinted and thought she could make out a faint glow in the air around it.  Pretty, really.

The move provoked a completely unexpected reaction in the man. He raised the gunblade and rushed in, swinging the sword from right to left in a slash that caught the dragon right across its muzzle but seemed to do no serious damage before a clawed paw came up and hooked it away.  The dragon slammed its uninjured paw to the ground to trap the blade and then swiped at the intruder with its free leg.

 Both hands still pulling at the sword, the man ducked as the claws passed two inches above his head.  Dragon blood spattered over his clothes and face as the creature lowered its muzzle in one swanlike swoop towards his exposed back.

Nia gasped.

In the split second before the jaws closed on his spine, the man let go of the hilt and flung up a hand as if in defence. Nia thought it was empty, but she guessed he had concealed a small bomb or grenade in it, because it looked as if a small explosion had ignited in the creature's face.  It reared back for a moment and the man dragged his sword out from underneath it, rising from a crouch two meters down the corridor.

 Strangely enough, the explosion didn't seem to have done the dragon any damage.  In fact if anything it looked better off than before.  Its face was covered in blacked soot which it slicked off with a long, blue tongue, forked like a snake's. It licked its lips.

Watching through the glass, she saw its sides hollow sharply then swell.

The monster lunged forwards again, hobbling on three legs. Its injured paw made it lurch clumsily to the side, slamming against the wall. The impact was enough to knock Nia to the ground.

There was a scraping noise from the wall in front of her and then, before she could get up, the window blanked out for the second time in a blaze of white-hot heat.

Nia covered her head with her arms, too frightened to scream.  The crash made the dust rise and coated her dark shirt and khaki shorts with a thin film of powdery white,  making her cough. Her hand went automatically to the radio button on her collar and touched a piece of wire and shattered circuit board.

_Broken.___

Surprisingly, the small discovery chased some of her fear away.  She could do this.  She just had to watch.

_Observe, leave, report._

_Easy.___

Crawling to her knees, Nia dragged herself to the window, her eyes just above the metal frame.

In the room, most things seemed to be on fire. She could feel the heat even from the other side of the glass and it didn't take her long to work out that the broken ceiling tiles were burning.  The floor was seared with a dark scorch-mark that started three metres from the dragon and swept either side in a long black arc.

The dragon was unharmed. It looked smug, raised it head and howled again, triumphantly. It made another awkward hop down the hall, its tail working frantically behind it like the propeller of a boat.

Nia shrank against the wall.  It was only a few metres away from her now.  

The man was nowhere to be seen. There was a tiny noise, nothing more than the crack and pop of burning masonry. It seemed to be coming from under the window. 

It was a while before Nia realised that the intruder had been thrown, or perhaps dived, to the floor below the window, maybe hoping for shelter.

She pressed her cheek to the glass and looked down, stifling a yelp as the warm glass threatened to burn her face.

There were a few thuds and muffled swearwords from behind the window. 

The dragon watched intently, mane of bobbing feathers parted to reveal the gleam of one beady eye. It dragged itself closer and roared.

Nia ducked again, pressing herself to the floor. There was a loud bang and a hiss, and then a shadow, cast on the floor of her empty corridor. She sat up.

The man had got up from the floor. He leant against her window and his shoulderblades hit the glass with a faint thump. His T shirt was freckled with tiny burns where cinders had landed, but Nia didn't think he looked that bad for something that should been roasted. Broken glass squealed and shattered on the floor, the shelves charred to ash.  Smoke and dark grimy stains left by the dragon's attack further obscured her view.

She moved to the side, very quietly, and got up.

The dragon lunged. Its blunt nose hit the glass with a dull thud, and then peeled away, leaving a smudge of dark blood on the pane.  The intruder dodged, moved back out into the middle of the corridor, hooked the sword over his shoulders casually and held out one hand in front of him. 

His mouth moved silently and a faint glow grew around the dragon, which roared and tossed its head. The glow coalesced into three radiant lights that swooped along the corridor to earth themselves in the man's outstretched hand and then spread, tracing out a bright circle on the floor. 

The circle flared brightly and then exploded in a kind of firework display as if someone had poured pink jelly over a glass globe from the ceiling, except in reverse.  Glittering light curled up from the floor to encase the intruder in a segmented pink ball that looked like an orange and lasted for all of three seconds before it disappeared.

_Magic.___

Nia wasn't sure if his spell had worked or not, but it was definitely magic.

That was bad. Magic meant soldier, or, even worse, SeeD. But she'd seen the SeeD downstairs and this man didn't look at all like her.  He wasn't wearing any uniform or anything.

_Why would Garden send agents?_

She didn't understand.   

_Ahh__.__ It must be a secret devious political reason._

He certainly fought like a soldier, because he wasn't dead yet.  

Whoever he was, it was lucky for her that his attention was focused on the dragon and not on the window behind him.  But then a Ruby Dragon, even a small one, was hard to miss.

The man gripped the sword with both hands and dived in again to face the creature.  He was moving more carefully now, as if he was saving his strength for what was undoubtedly going to be a long battle. 

The dragon snarled and lurched forwards to meet his attack. The movement sent its tail scything round in a long counterweighted arc that slammed against the wall and nearly knocked Nia over again.  She checked the walls and ceiling for cracks, but none appeared.

The point of the sword angled towards the dragons' throat. It dipped its head to snap at the man's arm, missed, drew back and tried again. This time the sword smacked it neatly across the nose.

Than man moved round in a cautious circle, back to the glass once more

Nia checked her watch. She was going to miss her programme, unless the dragon tried something, soon.

It lunged.

The man ducked, sliding out of the way and the dragon pulled up dead, staring straight through the window at her.

She froze.

The dragon raised one clawed forefoot and scratched at the glass, turning its head, birdlike. It flicked its head, as if swatting a particularly troublesome mosquito, the movement a poem in controlled motion.

Nia panicked. It was an instinctive gut reaction, three thousand years of evolution drowned in one second of sheer terror.

She placed the muzzle of the gun against the chequered glass window and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

_Oh, right_

_Safety off.___

She probably couldn't break the glass, anyway.  It was supposed to be shatterproof…..

The dragon reared back its head and smacked the glass with its nose. It didn't break through, but a tiny flaw appeared in the pane. The muzzle of the beast left long dark scarlet smears on its surface, pits of acid where its corrosive breath had eaten away at the glass.

_Safety, safety……_ Her hands slipped on the sleekly oiled metal.

The dragon reared its head back in an impossibly graceful curve for another blow and then whipped its long neck snakily back, away from her.  The ruff of feathers round its throat stood up starkly in some animal shorthand of rage or pain. It struck at the window almost absently with a heavy clawed forefoot that skidded across the glass and made a noise like nails squealing across a blackboard. 

Nia saw a flicker of movement from behind the dragon's scarlet bulk and realised that it was the intruder again. He looked slightly puzzled, perhaps wondering why the dragon had suddenly started attacking an otherwise unremarkable window. She didn't think he'd noticed her, but had the presence of mind to shrink away from the glass and into the shadows of the corridor.

The dragon snarled and then coughed, clawing at its throat. It lowered its head, taking a deep breath.

Nia flung herself away from the window, arms over her face.

There was a cough, a roar, and another blaze of incandescently pale light. Nia hit the floor on knees and elbows and dragged herself to a sitting position, choking. She rested there for a moment, shaking her head to clear the ringing from her ears.

There was silence from the other side of the room, broken by a low angry growl.

She stared at her hands on the floor, dark and grimy against the pale dusty floor. The lino sparkled with tiny pinpoints of light until she blinked and they disappeared.

Nia turned to get up, pressing one hand against the glass to help her stand. Her knees creaked.

At least, she thought it was her knees.

There was a faint creaking noise where the heel of her hand rested against the glass.  It was hot, superheated. There was no sign of the man on the other side of the glass, grimy with ash, but it was hard to see anything under a thick rime of smoke and soot.

Nia tested her legs and stood. 

_Was that movement?_

She scrubbed at the ash with her hand, spitting on her palm and rubbing harder until it dawned on her that the ash was on the other side of the glass and that her cleaning wasn't going to make any difference.

_That's it. I'm leaving. Surely he's dead. _

_I've had enough._

She peered round the grime, moving closer to the glass.

_A movement, definitely.__ Now was that…?_

Something blinked, in the ash.

The grime suddenly began to make a horrible kind of sense, like looking at a trick picture. There were faint shapes in the soot, a suggestion of wine-dark reddish pigment.

A stretch of the grime peeled off before her eyes to the accompaniment of more cracking glass. It was the dragon, no surprise there. Its heavy head rested alongside the window just the other side of the pane, in shadow, watching her. Small malevolent black pupils tracked her movements, dilating to take advantage of the corridor's dim light.

She jumped back, instinctively.

The dragons' head disappeared. Nia moved closer, which was a mistake, because just then was when the dragon tried again.

_Smash._

She screamed, tried selfconsciously to muffle the noise and then realised it wasn't going to make any difference. Pressing the palm of one hand to the glass as if it was going to make some kind of difference, she realised that they'd never planned on such large monsters when they planned the safe halls system and that the dragon could break through any time.

There was a sharp sudden crack. Gleaming lines radiated out, slowly at first, then faster and faster, spiderwebbing from the palm of her hand as the abused pane finally gave up its ghost. The tiny cracks traced over the pane from top to bottom as her eyes followed them in dread. Side to side, crack, shatter…

The glass fell away.

It didn't collapse in a glorious smash. The wire mesh baked into the pane for safety reasons prevented it from doing anything so dangerous as splintering. The hole started in the middle and then fell out, cubes of safety glass melting away from the edges of the hole as the gap grew larger and larger. A square of glass flew past her ear and a second cube cut a long painful trail down her cheek, leaving a bloody furrow.

The dragon gave another coughing grunt.

It drew its huge wedgeshaped head back almost daintily and placed one forepaw gently on the metal windowpane. She shrank back, too scared to move.

There was a sharp crash as some of the remaining pieces of glass fell to the ground, bouncing tinnily along the floor. The hole was as large as a basketball, easily big enough for the dragon to poke its head through. It could probably get through the window if the remaining glass was cleared away….

Nia swallowed.

The dragon turned its head, viewing Nia with one slitted reptilian eye, and then the other. Its pupils were small and black malevolently intelligent. Feathers floated around its head like the halo of a fallen angel.

She held the gun in both hands, cautiously extending her arms until the muzzle hovered a bare ten centimetres away from the dragons' open mouth. It watched her curiously, blood scabbed on its blunt nose from its earlier assault on the glass.

With a calm and presence she hadn't been aware she possessed, Nia pulled the trigger.

There was a howl, so deep in pitch that the thin hospital walls shook.

In the corridor beyond, the dragon went crazy.

Blood gouted from a small neat hole drilled with almost surgical precision between its eyes.

Nia felt an instant's pride

_See, you don't need a sword to slay dragons, projectile weapons are the way forwards, no doubt…._

She lowered the gun, mind already turning to cleanup measures. They'd need to isolate this section of the base, sure, it would need every available hand, but it could be done, with care…

The falling dragon lurched and crashed through the remaining glass.

Nia screamed, caught in a hail of tiny diamond squares. There was a sudden stink of petrol that caught at her throat and made her eyes water, her field of vision a blur of large dark moving creature. She shot again at the monster in front of her as she tumbled backwards and felt the shock of falling of her spine and elbows as she hit the wall and slid down, tennis shoes fumbling for purchase on the gravel-like glass fragments.

Body contorted, she bent like a limbo dancer, painfully aware that she mustn't touch the floor: not with all that glass and me in shorts, not…

The dragon coughed and convulsed, vomiting thick sticky green bile all over her T shirt. It was half way through the window, body wedged in the aperture and forcing her back against the wall too frightened to scream. Blood streamed from the hole in its skull and its tail cracked like a whip, flailing dust-sparkled air with lethal force.

There was a tiny agony on the back of her calves. The dragon's bulk pushed her inexorably down into the splinters on the floor. Its head was as heavy as a steel beam, huge and boxy and angular. It hit her hard in the ribs just under the solar plexus, knocking all the air out of her. An outflung forelimb settled over her, caging her effectively.

The last echoes of falling glass died away…

Nia didn't know how long it was before the silence resolved itself into a steady crunch. Her body ached all over. Something warm and wet drooled onto her T shirt from a deep gash in the dragon's lizard-like hide, and she had to keep her head craned away to keep the sharp scales from crushing her cheek.

It was the intruder. He climbed over the metal windowsill and dropped down in a crunch of glass, boots and long legs coming into Nia's frame of vision. She didn't even think about trying to attract his attention. He was armed, and her Jackal pistol seemed to have disappeared.

The man moved slowly and painfully, his clothes the same colour as the dust on the floor and streaked with charcoal. The whites of his eyes were red with smoke and the reek of the dragon's poisons. Blood and fluid leaked from a deep graze long one side of his face where a scale had caught him, and there were drops of what looked like dried blood on his shirt and caught in his short hair. He didn't appear to be badly hurt.

Close up he was younger that she'd first thought, moving with the precision of a soldier and the casual confidence of someone to who violence was a stock-in-trade. He looked like the kind of guy who'd break your wrist as soon as look at you, just because he liked the snapping sound.

Nia was paralysed, frozen. A whimper forced its way out of her throat

She couldn't move, weighing up the pros and cons of being trapped under a large decaying animal in a building full of carnivorous monsters and of possibly being shot.

Dark frizzy hair covered one eye where one of her braids had come undone. She put up her right hand to check because she couldn't move the left one. There was a big heavy weight on it and a dull pain underneath that which spoke of the snapping of tiny bones. A handful of charred black hair came away in her hand, dotted with the tiny coloured elastic bands she used to tie her braids off.

One side of her hair was burned away.

She closed her eyes and tried not to move, because then it didn't hurt so much.

A terrified sound forced its way out of her throat.

The man paused, climbing back through the window, glanced down and raised one eyebrow. He used the hilt of the sword to lift the dragon's head, grunting with the effort, saw her and nearly dropped it again. Pale shiny marks scarred his arms and face.

"What the hell?"

His foot kicked the Jackal pistol. The intruder bent down and scooped it up, turning it over in one hand. The long sword rested behind him on the floor, gleaming with slick blood and tiny fishlike dragon scales. He reached behind him, pulled out a revolver from his jeans and squinted, comparing them and running one grimy bloodstreaked finger over the two weapons.

"Who the hell are you?"

Nia tried to pull her trapped hand from under the dragon's bulk and almost wailed in pain.

"Were you _watching_?"

Ni couldn't decide whether or not to say yes, or no, so she said nothing. 

The intruder flipped both pistols over, replaced one in the back of his jeans and levelled the other one in her direction.

She found her voice "Please don't…I have a kid.."

"So?" He watched her dispassionately.

"Are you a SeeD?"

He shrugged.  The gun didn't move at all. "You know about Qu-…the SeeD?"

Nia, acutely aware that disagreeing might be the last thing she ever did, indicated that she might. It seemed an extremely odd place to have a conversation, half way under an expired dragon, but then this whole ten minutes had been so far outside her frame of reference that it was beginning to feel almost normal.  There was still Grat ichor and blood clinging to his hands. It made her feel sick.

"Look, whoever you are. I've seen lots of things you can't even imagine….. and done things I'd rather you didn't. You don't want to piss me off.  Now where is she?"

"Down beneath." She jerked her head

"Beneath _where_?" He gave the dead dragon's head a cursory glance, obviously deciding that she wasn't going to be going anywhere, and got up, moving out of her admittedly limited field of vision. There was a shatter of glass and a clink and then he was back, dragging a large black rucksack, slightly weathered and mostly charred.

Nia said nothing.

"Okay. You're going to take me." He zipped her Jackal into a pocket of the rucksack and picked up the long black sword.

"Or what ?" Her tiny attempt at defiance fizzled into ash at the expression on his face.

"And then I won't do something you'll regret. Not for long." he added, almost as an afterthought.

Nia groaned. She was tired and hurt and more scared than she'd ever been in her life.

_I knew this revolutionary thing was a bad idea. If I get out of this, I'll quit, I swear._

_Forget that-I never should have joined…._

The intruder lifted the sword and slid it under the dragon's head, body language all intimidation and dangerously tested selfcontrol as he worked the sword back and forth. He was close enough that she lost sight of him, but underneath the stink of sulphur and dying snake was a strong smell of charred cloth and hot metal.

The dragon's head shifted.

Nia winced in relief as the weight was lifted from her arm.  She tried to judge the distance between her good hand and the gun in the back of his jeans and firmly told herself to forget it. Who was she kidding? She wasn't a revolutionary or a sword bearing heroine like the TV stars she watched.

She took a closer look at her assailant. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place the location.

_He obviously doesn't know what a razor's good for, anyway._

She sat up, cradling her damaged hand to her chest. "Maybe I lied. About the SeeD."

"That's all right.  Maybe I did, too. About the not hurting you bit. Come on."

She got gingerly to her feet. The man gestured with the sword for her to walk in front of him.

"Just in case you're thinking about getting lost on purpose, that dead dragon's going to attract a shitload of monsters. I guess this little system of yours is closed off. Good idea, but now the monsters are going to get in and we're both bleeding, so they'll track us like hounds. Unless you've got some way to seal this off, some very safe way, and I don't think you have, then all your friends are going to get a surprise real soon. So we better go tell them." He paused. "You haven't got a way to seal all this of, have you?  One that's strong enough to stop the serious fuckers?"

"No." She placed her feet carefully., following the familiar tracks in the dust and automatically glancing at every window as they passed.

"Didn't think so."

"What do you want?"

"I told you, I'm here for the SeeD."

Nia kept quiet after that. The skin between her shoulder blades prickled, expecting a bullet every second. Her legs felt like jelly under her and her injured hand throbbed with a slow and steady pain.  She knew her captor had noticed the wound, but he paid no attention to it and she had the sneaking suspicion that he'd think she was mad to be making a fuss.  She sneaked one glance behind her and saw him following warily with the short pistol trained on her back.  The long black sword was slung over one shoulder on top of one of his rucksack straps.

"We close?"

Nia nodded.

I'm not sure whether this works or not, but the point of this whole thing was to emphasise that the SeeDs _so_ aren't normal they're scary.  Some of it's a bit random but I like showing other people's points of view. I persistently live in fear of someday getting a whole load of reviews for my last chapter with 'This SUCKS, man. What happened?' and not having a clue.

Anyway.

Oh, yeah, the syndrome Nia's dad dies of is caused by liver ulcers that spread to the lung blood vessels and eventually erode them, causing one hell of a fatal nosebleed.  Don't get liver ulcers, kids. They don't half slow you down. The 'money rolls in' song courtesy of Monarch Of The Glen by Neil Gaiman.

Revision is going okay, except the building site over the road has started with the hammering,  the guys downstairs have rediscovered R & B, and I'm living like some kind of midget hermit nun. However, I HAVE plotted out the last chapters of SDTC. I love it! It's so nice when things work out. There is definitely going to be a sequel. Again. But then that's it. Trilogies just..work, somehow.

Reviews:

Breaker-one: Sorry, you'll have to wait till the next chapter to find out how Quistis is

DBZ Fanfiction Queen: Ta. It's all coming together. Only a couple more months and this one should be finished. Hopefully.

Kjata: See, the (relatively nice) Seifer last ch is balanced out by the nasty one this time. He's worried about her… Oh dear.

Ghost140: Thanks..

Nynaeve77: Yeah, lots of people seem to be having probs with their reviews. I think it's good ole ff.net again. Ta:D Uh, keep trying.

ManaAngel: Thanks! I couldn't think of a good song for the last chapter, and the Angry Young Man was one I'd been saving. So him. I likes my songs, I does.

Quistis88: Thanks, as always. Much appreciated.

Sickness In Salvation: You think I'm cutting it off when it gets interesting then…just wait till the en-.

Sulou: I'm afraid what having a cranky alcoholic nicotine addicted sociopath as my alter ego says about the inner workings of my psyche, but hey. I probably should get out more..

Superviolinist: Life stuff sucks. Not that I have one, but I've heard good reports from other people.

Wonderful Failure: Ta. I have to set a fixed up-date otherwise it'd just sit on my computer and I'll never get it done. I'd like to do proper writing someday, and it's good practice.

Verdannii: The Seiferness is only going to get worse, I'm afraid.

Anyway, ta guys

Kate( But Aquaman! You cannot marry a woman without gills! You're from two different worlds… Oh, I've wasted my life.)


	18. Chapter Eighteen: In The Middle Of A Cro...

Chapter Eighteen: In the Middle of a Crowded Room

Look at us spinning out in

The madness of a roller coaster

You know you went off like a devil

In a church in the middle of a crowded room

All we can do, my love

Is hope we don't take this ship down

The space between where you're smiling high

Is where you'll find me if I get to go

The space between the bullets in our firefight

Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you

Take my hand

'Cause we're walking out of here

Right out of here…

Dave Matthews Band-The Space Between.(edit)

Quistis was bored to death. She tapped a pencil against her teeth and crossed her ankles lightly under the table, wishing her shoes were low enough to slip off.   

_But no. I had to wear the boots, didn't I? _

_I'm bored. And I thought two days wasn't going to be long enough…._

The rebels of the Children's Liberation Front had been polite enough once they got over the shock of her being both young and female. Quistis was aware of the unlikely figure she cut in their eyes, a lone woman clutching a scruffy rucksack and an outsize binder bursting at the seams with notes. Her blond hair was tucked up neatly into a businesslike twist, the cold intelligence in her eyes hidden behind stylish glasses.

There had been more than a few incredulous glances when she'd appeared at the rendezvous point. Over the last five years, Quistis had got very good at guessing what people were thinking.

_This is it?_

_This is all they've sent us?_

_This girl…who's pulling the strings?_

She got the impression that they'd expected her to be both more impressive and more male. Unfortunately there was absolutely nothing she could do about either, beyond severe knee-length skirts and the ever present spectacles. It didn't help that the SeeD female uniform resembled schoolwear, a fact that Quistis had always resented

_I'd love five minutes alone with whoever thought that one up. Five minutes alone with me, Save The Queen and maybe a spoon.._

_Probably Cid…_

The stares and bashful glances she got from the younger men were painfully predictable. The amused condescension she received from the older rebels of both sexes was more of a challenge. To be fair, their 'go home and give-up, little girl' attitude had frayed badly as the negotiations progressed and they discovered she was just as much SeeD as anything else. 

In between endless talking, presentations and discussions, she'd been given food and a place to sleep, though with customary SeeD caution she'd barely accepted either. During the rare breaks she'd attempted to strike up a conversation with a couple of the younger members of the group, but all that had got her was a few frightened stares.

Quistis looked round the room and thought longingly of the sun outside the bleak walls. During the previous forty eight hours she had memorised every detail of its layout, with particular attention paid to the entry and exit points.  It was bare, but clean, the negotiating table a motley assortment of hospital desks dragged together.

There was a skylight in the roof that should have let a lot of light through. It didn't, partly because it was choked with dead leaves, mould and dust and partly because the surrounding storeys of the building rose up to each side, placing the window at the bottom of a deep gloomy well. There was a long crack running across the glass, left to right. From the quality of the light that did get through, it was late afternoon. The second day Quistis had spent in the hospital.

It had been a wearing two days that had so far borne precious little fruit and she was heartily glad that the time limit for the talks was only a couple of hours away from running out. Time out, and as far as she was concerned, time wasted. Her binder had doubled in size from all the promotional materials the rebels had handed out, mostly badly photocopied pamphlets with hastily scribbled blanks to fill in the details, yet all of Quistis' carefully phrased and pointed arguments to the tune of '_so, why exactly should we do what you want anyway_?' were turned casually yet inexorably aside with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. She tried to convince herself that it was a learning experience.

_An education, really.  I've sat in on lots of peace talks and I've seen people bluff with bad hands, but I've never met a bunch of people who kept bluffing with no cards…_

She'd done her best, anyway. And Quistis' best was very good by any standards. But she was increasingly getting the feeling that no matter what she said, the CLA wasn't going to compromise. She'd tried her best to search for aces up the rebels' sleeves, and found nothing except an irritating air of smug confidence.

It was beginning to annoy her.

_Children's Liberation Front, huh? Front for what?_

After all, she'd attended enough negotiations to know exactly how these things were supposed to go. You made an offer, the other party made one of their own, and the real work lay in drawing a line that met somewhere in between.

This lot weren't taking 'no' for an answer. It was 'No more Gardens' or nothing.

She was extremely curious as to what exactly they thought they had to bargain with and had tried her best to imply that shutting down all the Gardens really wasn't an option, concealing the steel fist of sheer power in the velvet glove of diplomacy.

Annoy the most powerful private military force in the world, give them good reason to retaliate, and the old hospital could be incinerated in an instant with one blast of the Ragnarok's main guns, leaving the CLA both extremely dead and, unfortunately, extremely vindicated, which meant that the forceful option was out.

Quistis usually advocated the 'softly, softly' option of any plan but she was beginning to think that the Children's Liberation Front wouldn't recognise a gentle hint if it was dropped on their collective heads.

She glanced round the table, counting the negotiators. Five men, two women, four out of the seven with their features carefully hidden beneath black balaclavas that Quistis envied, if only because they could yawn as much as they wanted and she couldn't see. From the neck downwards they were dressed in an odd assortment of casual clothes that made clear their disparate origins. The leader, a burly man dressed in a V-necked jumper that would have looked more at home in some exclusive yachting club, was referred to only as 'Sir.' One pair wore boiler suits, the small woman next to them dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. Two other men wore fake military fatigues. Other people came and went independently through one of the room's two exits.  They kept their distance and watched her with a mixture of barely-suppressed hostility and awe.

 They seemed to be finding the negotiations much more interesting than she was.

Quistis stretched, yawned unobtrusively behind a closed fist and tried to avoid glancing at her watch, returning her attention to the topic of their conversation.

One of the boiler-suit clad rebels was giving an extremely long lecture on the joys of freedom of speech, self-publishing of pamphlets and attacking military targets with large explosive devices. He'd been talking for over forty five minutes already and showed no sign of giving up.  Occasionally Quistis would add a comment of her own which would sink helplessly under the weight of propaganda and rhetoric issuing from the man's mouth.  She'd given up arguing every point after the first heated fifteen minutes and was busy planning her own speech in response, on the advantages of private military companies, very nearly cheap professional services and dealing swiftly and harshly with anybody who dared use terrorist tactics against the Gardens.

Her gaze strayed to the grimy silhouettes of a few bedraggled pigeons nesting in the rafters of the huge barnlike conference room. One of them fluffed its feathers and yawned, revealing long and surprisingly sharp teeth. Quistis jerked her attention back to the speaker.

"…and, as I said, any government who relies on private companies to do its own dirty work …"

She tapped her fingers on the table, making the man jump, glance round and pause in his speech just long enough for her to speak. "Rather than quietly employing the army to do the same for them."

"It's not the _same_."

Quistis sighed and folded her arms, surreptitiously checking her watch at the same time.  "You pay the army. It's called 'taxes.' You pay us, too. It's just more direct."

"That's as may be, but if you were _working_ for the government it would be different."

"We do work for the governments." Quistis pointed out. The truth was that the SeeDs worked for almost anyone, providing that they were very very rich or in some way deserving and the jobs didn't contravene any of the major laws, religious commandments or both.

 "But what revenue you earn goes straight back into your organisation."

"That's because we're privately funded." _Ever considered the meaning of 'mercenaries'?_ _Ye gods…_

Quistis was fully aware that she was gifted, in an average child-prodigy sort of way, and she was used to being at least a few degrees smarter than the rest of the room, but this was the first time she'd been made to feel that whole mountain ranges of stupidity lay between them and her.

_What part of 'we don't even have to cough to wipe you off the face of the map' don't you understand?_'  _And when I say "wiped off the map", I mean reduced to so much rubble that your chief export is brick dust. Except that we can't actually nuke you without your claims being proved right. _

_Dead right._

_Dead_

_I'm so dead._

Nia tried not to think about it. She told herself firmly that everybody died some time and if anything happened her blood would be shed for a worthy cause. The phrase 'blood of the martyrs' had featured heavily in most of Asbel's speeches. This was fine with her.  She'd just never planned on being one of them.

Her imagination seemed treacherously good at bringing up images of gruesome slaughter. The thought of death terrified her, not the pain, although that was bad enough, but the thought of…not being there. It was one of the scariest things she could possibly think of, though at the moment nearly being squashed by a rampaging Ruby Dragon and then having some deranged madman point a gun at her was running a close second.

She tried to comfort herself with the fact that he couldn't kill her until they'd reached the base.  It didn't really work.

_He can always shoot me and then go in the direction my cold dead body's pointing in. He knows which is the right floor now, at least._

Her entire body felt frozen with fear, her thoughts slightly dissociated from reality.  Silver flecks sparkled at the edge of her vision, giving her a strange sense of vertigo to go with a growing feeling of inadequacy.

_We're going to get found out.  And it's all my fault.  Is it illegal?Is what we're doing wrong?_

_I didn't bomb anyone…This isn't fair._

She couldn't help thinking that if she was in a movie then she'd have done something intelligent, brave and incredibly stupid instead of just doing what the intruder said like a dumb farm animal destined for slaughter. A sacrificial lamb, maybe.  Although Nia was, in principle at least, in favour of dying for a cause, the specifics were starting to worry her slightly. After all, you only got one life, and causes were ten a penny…

_I think I should have considered this before I came anywhere near a lunatic with a gun._

It felt rather like shutting the stable door after the horse had run gleefully out, flicking its tail and making a V sign with its hooves. The adrenaline of the fight had long since dissipated, leaving her jumpy but exhausted, images playing over and over in her mind in constant action replay interspersed by oddly normal, regular thoughts.

_I have to pick Fio up in an hour. She'll be wondering where I've got to. They'll charge me extra if she stays after five.._

_This is assuming I'm still alive at five o clock….   _

The walls passed her by as if in a dream, a waking hallucination.  As they neared the base the silence was replaced by the clink of heating pipes and cooling fans, their noises slightly muffled.  Nia blew quietly at her hair as it straggled into her eyes. She would have raised one hand to scrape the stray wisps back into her braids but she didn't want to move to fast, just in case the man behind her had an itchy trigger finger.

"Are we there yet?"

Nia risked a glance round.  "Nearly." 

He followed after her, eyes alert, posture as guarded as any good sheepdog. He would have been handsome in a cruel kind of way under the ash and smoke and blood, given several baths, a change of clothes, a shave and a haircut. Handsome, but way too white for her taste, and oddly familiar, as if he was somebody's son or brother or something.

Apart from the gun, he'd treated her with totally unsympathetic condescension. She would have understood it if he'd been threatening, but apart from the pistol pointed in her general direction with an unerring aim that bordered on the supernatural, he didn't seem that worried about what she might do.

Despite this, she got the feeling that he'd attack her just as fast as the Ruby Dragon if she got in his way. Not with any particular malice, but a sharp ruthlessness that gave no quarter and asked for none in return.

_Faster. It's got four legs to sort out and no military training, after all._

A voice drifted up from the ventilation shafts as they neared the base. "_The SeeD_? _No, I don't like her."_

"Stop."

She came to a slow halt a metre past the shaft. It was covered with a metal grate, the people below invisible and only faintly audible. Nia did a quick calculation in her head and worked out that they must be over the common room. The intruder walked over to the wall and stood next to the grate, cocking his head to try and get a clear view down the shaft. He paid no attention to Nia, but the gun remained steadily pointed in her direction.

The man below them laughed. His voice had the wavery edge of an adolescent, shifting between high and low pitches. "_I don't like her. But she may be the hottest girl I've seen in my entire life. And I have cable_."

"_Mmm-hmm_."

Her captor smiled, slightly.

Nia hoped for a second that the noises had carried their footsteps down to the two men talking, and than gave up as they carried on their conversation. No one was coming. The topic of conversation changed to the local team's football scores and then faded away as the men finished their break and moved on. 

She rested awkwardly against the wall and wondered what would happen to her if she shouted.

Nothing good, she had to admit.

She swallowed and tried pushing her luck. All the cop shows and kidnapper movies she'd even seen told you to try and strike up a bond with your attackers, so if the crunch came and they knew your name, talked to you even a little bit, they'd be that little bit less eager to do something you and they would no doubt regret.

"What do you want the SeeD for anyway?"

The man turned towards her almost in surprise and scratched between his eyes at a faint pale line. They were the first unsolicited words she'd spoken to him since they'd met.

"None of your business." He spoke quietly but didn't seem particularly angry.  At least, nothing bad had happened to her yet.

 "You're not a SeeD? Really?"

"Strictly freelance."

This worried her even more. At least SeeDs were supposed to have morals, even if they charged highly for them.

"We're here."

"Right. Shut up."

"Let's wind this up."

_Thank Hyne_, Quistis thought. She stole a glance at the microphone of the radio transmitter, hoping that whoever was monitoring the conversation on the other end was just as bored as she was. She cleared her throat and said "I stick with what I've been saying throughout. It's really not practical to abolish the Gardens. Nor is turning them over to the public sector a viable option, and, as far as recruiting children goes, they can leave at any time. We need the revenue from our jobs to maintain the same high standards of service that we've founded our reputations on. I think the private individuals who founded the Gardens and put so much of their time and money into maintaining them would dismiss your arguments out of hand." 

The balaclava'd leader closed his own folder with a slam. He replied "I appreciate your courtesy. I'd like to help you, I really would. You seem like such a nice person to me."

Quistis had to choke back a smile.  _Liar. Yeah, right,_ she thought. The man had been annoying the hell out of her for the last forty eight hours, so it was a fair bet that she was pissing him off at least as much. What with the mask, it was hard to guess his thoughts. He didn't scratch his nose or pinch his ear or cross his arms. In fact, he made none of the involuntary movements that the SeeDs were well trained to pick up. She'd seen more life in shop dummies. 

The leader continued his speech, oblivious to her thoughts. ".. But we will accept no alternatives and have nothing to offer if you refuse to meet with our requests. Discussion is pointless and I…"

There was a wordless shout, followed by the sound of footsteps. The leader fell silent. His head moved slightly, focusing on one of the conference room's two doors. Quistis swivelled round in her own seat.

The door opened, behind her.

A teenage boy backed slowly into the room, gun held out in front of him in the kind of stylish and flamboyant pose that beginners tended to use just before they got skewered by an older and more experienced fighter. It was shaking so much that Quistis privately thought he had a better chance of hitting his foot than his target. She frowned.

The leader, across the table, stood up, pushing the folder away from him into the middle of the table. "What in Hyne's name is going on back there?"

There was a crash, a frightened whimper and then the sound of a familiar voice. "Looking good. Might be an idea to take the safety off, though. Now stop pointing that at me before I do something nasty."

The boy backed slowly a few more steps and risked a wild glance round at the assembled people before his hands trembled and fell. He dropped the gun, which skittered across the floor, and took off running to the other side of the room, half falling into the assembled crowd.

Everybody else took a step back.

Quistis sat bolt upright in her chair. "_Seifer_?"

"Quistis?"

Quistis had never been more disappointed to discover she was right.

Seifer stood framed in the doorway, clothes and skin streaked with ash, his body language subtly threatening. This was mostly due to the fact that his right hand held a small ugly pistol, held jammed into the ribs of a small dark skinned woman standing in front of him, a stranger.   His left hand rested lightly against the doorframe, stance combat balanced and textbook-perfect.

Quistis suddenly recalled that her mouth was hanging open in surprise. She shut it, quickly, already frantically trying to decide how to turn the situation to her best advantage. Within one second she'd considered and rejected at least forty different hypotheses, the most positive being 'maybe, if I'm very careful, just maybe we can both get out of this without getting killed'. It was not a conclusion she was happy with.

Seifer's eyes flicked to her and his expression changed subtly into something slightly less threatening.  By his standards this was vast relief.

His voice was rough, as if he'd been smoking too many cigarettes. "Hey..You're all right?"

Quistis found herself nodding briefly before she stopped herself, face aghast.

_This is bad_…

_No.  It's worse._

She wondered if Xu had picked up on the transmission yet.  The radio waves were notoriously unreliable.  

The rebels stood like statues round the edge of the room, their gazes moving from face to face, tracking Quistis' frown, Seifer's scowl, and his hostage's expression of sheer pant-wetting terror. The seated negotiators that surrounded her all seemed at a loss for words, but she guessed it was only a matter of time before questions started to be asked.  Questions she didn't even want to admit to herself.

Quistis slipped one hand surreptitiously under the table to fumble with the clasp of her small rucksack. The clip opened with barely a sound and her fingers touched Save The Queen inside, slick leather and chain coiled like a sleeping snake.   

She asked the obvious question. "What are you doing here_?_"

"Me? You've been here for ages." Seifer's eyes moved over her, scrutinising her carefully as if he was expecting blood. His face was a mask of soot, the whites of his eyes reddened. The knees were ripped out of both of the legs of his jeans and there was a deep graze sprawling along one cheekbone. The clothes of the small woman in his arms were piebald with dirt, a long stain of drying green ichor striping her shirt.

Quistis hoped that her tone of voice wasn't as horrified as she felt. "I'm concluding the negotiations. What did you think I was doing?"

She was slightly concerned. Surely Seifer wouldn't have turned up just to collect her? It was slightly too dramatic even for him, not to mention suicidal.  Despite all the CLA's assertions of semi-peaceful protest, she was pretty sure that several were packing weapons. 

_Either something's going on here, or he's just committed the cardinal sin of relationships: trying to protect me.._

 The frown between her eyes deepened and she pushed her spectacles up her nose, scratching at the spots either side of her nose where the nosepiece rubbed.   

 The thought that Seifer might think she needed looking after rankled and made her words more clipped than she'd intended. "When I need your help I'll ask for it."

Seifer smirked, and said, quite seriously, "See you soon, then."

Quistis narrowed her eyes. Beneath Seifer's usual veneer of brash aggression and ever present anger he looked worried. Worried, and, maybe, less protective of his pride than she'd ever seen him before.

_What do you know that I don't?  Whatever it is, I doubt that I'm going to like it much….  _

Around her the other inhabitants of the room finally caught up to speed.

The nameless leader was the first to act. He rapped out a crisp question in the manner of somebody who expected to be answered and simultaneously held up one arm.

"What is going on here?"

Several of the more well-built members of the CLA stepped forwards from the growing crowd, and then hesitated as Seifer brought the pistol up to bear on the throat on the small woman in his arms. He wasn't holding her, didn't have to, because the woman looked frozen to the spot by sheer terror. He shook his head, slightly. "Whoa."

Quistis had an acute feeling of déjà vu.

_Now what does this remind me of? Does he think_ _people won't listen to him unless he's holding one of their friends at gunpoint?_

To make things worse, there was the same sense that events were careering rapidly out of control that she'd had in Timber all those years ago…

_I don't believe this is happening to me… _

Her voice was a venomous whisper. "What in Hyne's name do you think you're doing?

Seifer scowled. "What do you mean, what am I doing? What have _you_ been doing? I got arrested."

Quistis raised one eyebrow in a gesture designed to illustrate less than overwhelming surprise. She said "That isn't anything to do with me. What have you been up to?"

_Nothing good, from the look of it…not that that surprises me…I'm betting the fighting, the drinking, the refusal to pay rent, the concealed weapons  or the homicidal impulses… The usual. _

_And the winner of the dead-person whose-grave-has-been-spat-on-the-most-times-award is….. _

The radio hissed in the background, Overhead, the skylight darkened for a second as a cloud passed over the sun. It cast Seifer's face in deep shadow, his profile knife-sharp as he flicked cautious glances to the petrified members of the CLA to each side. He raised his free hand from the doorframe long enough to wipe at his face. The movement didn't so much remove the dirt as spread it around, giving it a brief holiday. "It was you. You left bloody guns. In your room."

Quistis felt a deep blush begin to suffuse her cheeks. Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't the answer she'd just been given. She wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting, certainly not a reply on the lines of 'I couldn't live without you for more than forty-eight hours without getting withdrawal', but she'd never considered that Seifer's sudden appearance might somehow be her fault. She schooled her expression to a carefully blank mask, out of habit. "I what?"

Seifer sighed as if the answer was blindingly obvious and Quistis was just being dense. "When you caught the train here you must have left something in your room. Some kind of weapons. The damn receptionist found it and had the police haul me in from questioning…and I dunno, there was something wrong."

"Apart from you being in jail." Quistis said, stating the obvious.

"Right."

The faces of the assembled rebels were starting to get on Quistis' nerves, as their gaze moved from one speaker to the other like the spectators at a verbal tennis match.  The faces of the unmasked negotiators looked almost as puzzled as she felt.

_I have to get him out of here…this is going wrong…..and I still don't have a clue what he's talking about. Did I leave stuff in the room? Well,  it was late, and I was tired..I guess I might have done.._

Seifer read the blank look on her face. "Okay, just answer one question and I'll go away. Did you know these fuckers have a whole load of weapons hidden back there?" He jerked his head curtly behind him.

There was a collective intake of breath from around the room.

Seifer glanced challengingly at the assembled rebels and yanked a small revolver from the back of his jeans. He tossed it onto the table, watching Quistis carefully as the gun skidded down the desks towards her.

The sinking feeling in Quistis' stomach deepened into a horrible dark pit. She let her gaze slide over the weapon, noting condition, make and the lack of any serial number before she palmed the gun. "What kind of weapons?"

Seifer shrugged. "All sorts. Guns, knives. Oh yeah, explosives, too. Thought that'd interest you. Enough for a small army "

Quistis' gaze swung from Seifer to the leader, whose ski mask gave away exactly none of his expression. "Is this true?"

_Military intelligence. What an oxymoron._

"We never denied that we're prepared to use force if necessary." The leader pointed out, blandly. He motioned to the gun in Quistis' palm and said "I hope you're going to return that."

She replied with a don't-push-your-luck glare and swung back in her seat to face the assembled leaders of the resistance group.  "What is the point of negotiations if you're not even going to listen? _Hyne_. Weapons. Illegal weapons."

One of the female negotiators shrugged "We said we bombed Garden, what did you expect to have? Small fluffy kittens, perhaps?"

"You're sure about the weapons" Quistis addressed Seifer, ignoring the sarcasm. She slipped the gun unobtrusively in her bag, hoping that nobody noticed. Evidence, in the increasingly unlikely chance that she made it back to Balamb.

 "Oh, yeah."

"It was locked!" someone else pointed out.

Seifer grinned, smile pale in his filthy face. "Not any more."

Quistis had almost forgotten about the assembled resistance members. The leader's voice made her jump.

"You're trespassing. And disrupting the proceedings." The balaclava turned towards Seifer. His voice was cold and even, with none of the panic or guilt that she might have expected.

"You want me to throw him out?" said one of the slower on the uptake thugs

_Now there's an experiment I wouldn't want to miss…_Quistis thought grimly.

The leader held up a hand and gave Seifer a sharp and assessing look through the knitted eyeslits of his ski mask. "No."

He sounded oddly certain. Quistis thought cynically that if she was him, she'd have wanted Seifer out of the way as fast as possible. Seifer looked faintly surprised, but returned the man's glare with interest and faint scorn.

Quistis spoke over her shoulder at the radio. "Xu? Are you getting this?" She snapped at the nearest teen recruits who had one arm stretched out halfway towards one of the knobs. "Don't touch that dial."

The radio returned a hiss of static. Quistis couldn't work out whether that was a good or bad thing. She rested her head in the palms of her hands, linking her wrists under her chin, and tried to work out what to do.

_What a disaster…_

The assembled masses of the CLA watched Seifer with wary fear.

 "Is he a diplomat?" someone asked cautiously. They sounded too young to be there, but she couldn't make out the speaker.

Quistis sighed. "No. He's the reason for diplomacy. It's best to think of him as an independent weapon."

"That's a SeeD?" one of the rebels asked incredulously.  Quistis couldn't blame him.  Not only did Seifer look as though he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, the hedge had, apparently been on fire.

"No." _It's not. Oh, so not._

One of the smaller rebels glanced from Quistis to Seifer and back again, obviously comparing reference notes. "No _way_."

She could understand their confusion. SeeDs fought the bad guys. Seifer at his best of times was barely better than the bad guys. And this was definitely not one of his best times. Quistis had the feeling that she was fast slipping into murky moral waters, the high ground receding under her feet as she struggled to stay upright.

"I think he is…" the leader said slowly, as if he was trying to work something out.

Quistis ran her mind back over their conversation and mentally winced.

_"Looking good. Might be an idea to take the safety off, though. Now stop pointing that at me before I do something nasty."_

_"Seifer?"_

_ ..and then he asked if I was all right and said I'd been here for ages…I guess I have been…_

_It was me. I blew his cover. Oh, Hyne._

 A SeeD? Dressed like that? You have to be kidding."

Quistis crossed her fingers under her chin. Seifer unconsciously touched his left hand to his face, scratching absently at his scar for a second before he realised what he was doing and lowered the hand irritably. His right hand moved upwards, the sleek silver revolver tracing upwards to press hard into the cheekbone of the paralysed woman standing in front of him. Her head reached his collarbone. She shook slightly, teeth biting her lower lips hard enough to draw blood.

The leader suddenly clicked his fingers as if he'd solved a particularly hard crossword puzzle. "You're that guy. All-masy." He sounded faintly triumphant at this deduction. Quistis thought sourly that she hadn't exactly made it hard for him.

"Alm_a_sy. At least pronounce it right." Seifer didn't sound particularly surprised.  She guessed that he'd been replaying this moment in his head for a long time.

 "Seifer Almasy? Was Hell full up or something?"

Seifer looked down at himself with a wry grin. "Nah. But they had a dress code."

"You're not dead." the female half of the boiler-suited couple chipped in.

"Not yet. Sorry if that's a problem for you." He didn't sound it.

"Didn't you..?"

"Yeah. Probably." Seifer smiled sharkishly, a slight taunting note just audible in his voice.

"You were with that sorceress." commented someone else.  The other door opened, warily, as more people flooded in the room, in twos and threes. The word had spread quickly. It must have spread equally quickly that entering through the door blocked by Seifer and his hostage was a Very Bad Idea, in capitals, as nobody tried to push past.

The tension in the air gathered.

"Didn't _you_ try to bomb Balamb?.." One of the younger cadets was staring up at him with what might have been hero-worship in his eyes.

 "Didn't you die a year ago?" someone more pragmatically asked.

Seifer sighed. "Yes, yes, and no. Since I'm obviously here. Not bad, Quistis. It only took them five minutes and it's been taking everybody else two fucking years to figure out who I am.."

He didn't add, _thanks to you_. He didn't have to.

The leader didn't appear to be dismayed. "Quiet." He turned to Quistis. "So you're not a SeeD?"

Quistis hesitated, trying to work out exactly what the man was thinking and what kind of conclusions he was coming to.

"Oh, she is." Seifer said grimly.

The balaclava turned from one to the other, and then stopped, pointing at Quistis, like a game of spin-the-bottle.

"You're a SeeD, but you must have known he wasn't dead all along. You didn't look surprised at all. Are you working for the sorceress? Against the Gardens?"

There was a silent pause as Quistis suddenly realised what particular conclusion the man had jumped to. She wasn't surprised that he was confused, after all it had taken her long enough to come to terms with the idea of Seifer still being alive, and even longer for her to be okay with that fact.

_He thinks I'm a traitor…and to top that he's just assuming Seifer's still doing what he did in the wars…and I'm somehow working with him_.

_Interesting._ _Wrong, but interesting_.

She sighed. "Ultimecia's dead."

"I'm not working for anyone." Seifer broke in, half-indignantly. He shifted, slightly, easing the grip off on the gun. His hostage stayed where she was, eyes staring straight ahead with the blind animal-fear of someone who didn't expect to survive.   

_I knew this relationship thing was going to cause trouble. No amount of mind-blowing sex is worth this amount of baggage…_ Quistis thought, cynically.__

The leader steepled both hands on the table top and peered at them all from over his interlaced fingertips. "But if you're working together, then _you_." he stabbed a finger at her, "are not really a Balamb agent. You're like us?"

When Quistis answered it was as much to sort the situation out in her own mind as his. "Believe it or not, this has absolutely nothing to do with these negotiations. I fought the sorceress. I am here purely as a Balamb operative trying to sort out our problems"  "

She gave Seifer an evil glare over her spectacles. "Or I was."

He looked innocent, or as innocent as a six-foot-two man carrying more weaponry than the average stormtrooper could look. "I thought you were in trouble."

Quistis' hand reached inside her bag and closed on her whip as she said "Congratulations, I am now."  She touched the stolen gun and then decided on the more familiar weapon.

"So what are you doing with him?" the boiler suited woman asked.

"It's complicated." Quistis was painfully aware that it would be complicated enough trying to explain it to her friends, people who knew both her and Seifer. Trying to explain their misbegotten excuse for a relationship to anybody else would be near-impossible, probably requiring line diagrams, graph paper and several hours.

 "I'll bet it is." The speaker looked more interested than hostile. Quistis counted that as a plus.

The leader coughed, back on track again. "So if I made you an offer…you're trying to bring down Garden?"

"No! I'm here on Garden business."

The man looked at Seifer, who shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm with her."

"Well, this makes our job a whole lot simpler. It's no secret that we were behind the Balamb attack…"

Quistis hissed in an indrawn breath.  It was the first time anyone had alluded so bluntly to the bomb in their liaison. The topic had been skirted round with a kind of undiscussed delicacy. Nobody had actually admitted to anything…and now here they were.

She hoped Xu was picking up the radio. Selective transmission, that would be the key to explaining all this when she got back….As long as the "Seifer?!" bit was missed, the rest could probably be put down to static noise.

The leader picked up a pen, doodling idly on a stray piece of notepaper. "You go back to Garden and persuade them to accept our terms…or we tell Balamb that he's here. We seem to be having a small problem with out transmitter but I assure you it will be fixed momentarily."

Quistis was, for once in her life, completely lost for words.

Seifer's gaze moved to the exits, obviously tracking out a route for retreat if the going got rough. She automatically gave him a glare as her loyalties grappled for supremacy in the privacy of her own head.

_You are not running out again…_

_What do I do? Seifer can look after himself. So can Garden, but persuading Squall to accept these losers' terms is going to be considerably more difficult than telling Seifer to get the hell back…not that I've not tried…_

The leader sat back in his chair with a palpable air of smugness.

"You're trying to blackmail me?" As she said it she realised what a stupid comment it was. The bald statement hung in the air between them all.

Seifer shrugged. "There's no point, I'm going back myself, Call them up now, I don't care. You'll just save me the cost of a train ticket."

He sounded incredibly sure of himself. Only Quistis caught the subtle flicker of his eyes to her and then away again.

_Oh, he knows. He knows that I'd choose Garden over him. He must know that I can't betray Garden just to keep him from paying for his crimes. It might not be nice but it's justice. _

_I'm sure he knows that as well._

"Ah, Mr Almasy, but it wasn't only Balamb who had a warrant out for your arrest. Galbadia too, wasn't it and I doubt that they'd be so…lenient…"

There was a silence. It went on for slightly too long before Quistis hastily gathered her thoughts sufficiently to say "They know."

A weak shot, she was painfully aware. The excuse was as transparent as clingfilm and obscured the truth just as effectively. In other words, useless.

_How do they know this stuff? They've got things on me that they shouldn't have been able to find out…and we haven't even been able to get their leader's name. This stinks worse than dead fish._

_And they have a lot of money behind them-what are these guys playing at?_

 "Nice try. But you can't bluff us." The leader turned the blank face of the ski mask to Seifer. "I hear Mr Martine was ..most upset about what you did to his Garden two years ago. Not to mention the Trabian Headmaster, what's her name?"

_Shit._

Quistis considered the circumstances to be definitely a swearword situation. She just hoped Seifer didn't decide to do anything stupid. Stupider than usual, anyway…Threatening Seifer, who believed that the best defence was a good offence and often went straight for the jugular without bothering with any preliminaries, was not a good move to make if you wanted a long and healthy life.

She supposed that it depended on whether he thought you were harmless enough to be amusing.

_If that's the case, you'd probably still get decked, but he'd laugh and point at you first. If he took you seriously enough you wouldn't even see him coming._

_And then, well, put it this way, signing up for that Donor Card was a waste of time._

_Ye gods. I'm making such a mess of this. Some diplomat_.

To her surprise Seifer simply shrugged and jabbed the gun into the small woman's cheek, pulling her up onto her toes.  "You and whose army?" He gave the massed ranks of the CLA the edged grin of someone with a nasty reputation to uphold.

"This one." somebody else said.

_My God are we in trouble_, Quistis thought.

Hyne, however, seemed disinclined to come to the rescue, so she had to manage herself in lieu of a deus ex machina.

_How am I going to get us out of this one?_

_ Even more importantly, how am I going to salvage these damn talks?_

_How am I going to explain all this to Squall?_

_Well, that's one pro. If I don't make it back, I don't have to. And they say that that proverb about every cloud having a silver lining isn't true._

"I repeat, Galbadia's only a short phone call away."

"They won't believe you" Quistis broke in flatly, wondering if it was true.

_Rahel, and that soldier Isak we talked to…they'll remember. Oh yes, they will. But they might not be believed, and they're probably out on missions…_

_If we're lucky. And right now the only kind of luck I seem to be getting is Bad._

_Hyne, Seifer, I ask you, expect you, to do one simple thing. Leave. Me. Alone. _

_Some people would think this was sweet. I just think it's annoying. _

The leader continued with his speech. His tone of voice changed to a more coaxing timbre. "Or what about working for us? You brought down one Garden once."

Seifer smiled wolfishly.  "I didn't bring it down. I was working for someone who bombed it. There's a difference. I was eighteen."

Quistis watched as this sank in round the table.  She'd never really thought as herself as young, and Seifer always gave the impression of someone who had been born looking about twenty five and who would go on looking twenty five for another fifteen years.

_Eighteen. Ye gods. _

 "When we do away with the Gardens….."The leader spoke casually, as if it was a foregone conclusion. Quistis shot him a venomous glare, which had the effect of making his hesitate, just slightly. Despite herself, she wanted to hear his proposal.

"When we do away with the Gardens there'll be places in the new order…You're good with a sword?"

Seifer gave the room a scornful glare. "Gunblade. I'm a fucking virtuoso with the gunblade. And I'm good at grievous bodily harm, too." He gave the leader a glare, which the man either ignored or missed completely. 

 "I'm sure an arrangement could be made."

 "Not again."

"Again?"

_Of course_, Quistis thought.  _They don't know about Trabia._

 Shit, I'm getting tired of every lame ass weirdo with a grudge against the world seeking me out. It's a bloody shame that the most stupid thing I did in my life is the one I'm going to be remembered for."

"What do you want? Power?"

"Don't think I'm not tempted."

Quistis could almost believe him. She hoped that her gut feeling was right. Right now her gut feeling was oscillating wildly between "I have to trust him" and "butterflies in stomach and horrible sinking sensation"

Not to mention that Seifer accepting the man's offer would mean getting rid of all evidence. Namely, witnesses. Namely, her. 

 "Money? The creed is greed, right?"

"Don't you think that recruiting me might kind of dent your credibility a little?" Seifer asked, surprisingly reasonably, she thought, for a man holding a gun to someone else's head.

The leader matched his tone. "I'm sure we can deal with that. People will accept anything, as long as it's shown to them gradually." He looked Seifer up and down. "Very gradually."

 "Hyne, don't you listen? I told you. I'm going back to Garden. And anyone who wants to attack it." Seifer grinned suddenly, "is going to have to go through me first."

"I'm disappointed. Now that just does not make sense.  You fought against Garden. Like us. We could have a lot in common."

"You've got me wrong. I don't like Garden. I don't like its headmasters. But it anyone takes them down, it's going to be me."

Quistis couldn't tell whether he was serious or not. She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"I'm sorry to hear that. And so we come back to the original topic of our conversation."

"Yes, That was the blackmail, right." Quistis said, sarcastically.

"I would prefer if we were not so ..blunt about it. I expect that must be the military life coming out, hmm? Now, what was it? Oh, yes. Do what we say or, I think, your…acquaintance will be 'going down' as they say." The leader made a little gesture with his index fingers, as if he was putting the words in quotation marks. "It's an interesting point, but I do believe that the penalty for betraying the ruling government of Galbadia hasn't been repealed since, mm, the sixteenth century. If my memory serves me correctly, I think the word 'disemboweled' comes into it several times…"   

Seifer's fingers tightened on the trigger of the gun.  The man ignored it. His hostage gave a little choked scream as he spoke round her head. "You'll be going down first. And harder. And technically I didn't betray them. They knew what they were getting into. It's not my fault they decided they didn't like it."

"You didn't enjoy at least some of what your …previous exploits brought you?"

"It was good at the time. Pity about the last two years of sheer unadulterated hell. I don't think you're up to the same standards as Edea, though." He raked his gaze round the room, taking in the dilapidated furnishings and the motley assortment of people.

"We have power."

"Where?" Seifer gave him a scornful glance. She could guess what he was thinking. Apart from their leader, the CLA seemed nothing more than a rabble held together by a shared cause. She didn't doubt that Seifer could be bought, after all, anyone could be, given the right incentive, but she was almost certain that he wasn't going to put his neck on the line for anything less than ultimate unadulterated power.

 "We will."

"My ass."

"You don't support our cause?"

Seifer shrugged, reflectively. "I'm all for the power thing.  But what, your main agenda's children's rights, and being one of those kids, I have a problem with that. Besides, I support saving the whales but I'm not chaining myself to the front of a fishing boat."

 "You do?"

"No. Anything that big should be able to look after itself."

Quistis thought that if Seifer had by some fluke of genetics been born as a whale, no one would need to save them and everyone would have moved fifty miles inland

The leader coughed "You'd think that being a willing, equal partner in a liberation movement would be so much more rewarding than being some woman's lapdog" He missed the glare this earned him from every female member of the CLA."

Someone laughed.

Seifer snarled. He was tense, muscles rigid and quivering with anger.

Quistis spoke quietly, between her teeth. "Don't. They're not worth it."

 "That's a fucking stupid thing to say." His tone of voice indicated that they might not be, but the warm happy feeling he'd get after the grievous bodily harm would.

His eyes were narrowed, hand on the hilt of his gunblade. Quistis traced his line of sight to a stocky teenage member of the Resistance, sitting on one of the desks with one leg clutched to his chest and chewing gum, obviously the person who'd snickered.  He blanched at Seifer's glare, got down and disappeared behind a couple of the larger CLA members.  Quistis couldn't blame him. If looks could kill, the boy would have been nailed to the noticeboard at his back.

Seifer hissed quietly through his teeth.

Quistis relaxed, slightly. "I'd quite like to get out of here."

The leader shrugged. The rebel to his right coughed. "It's us or them, sir."

Seifer's head snapped round, dividing his attention with the ease of long practice between Quistis, the leader and the person who'd just spoken. "If you're talking about dying, it's going to be _you_."

"Was that a threat?"

Seifer looked vaguely pleased that someone, at least, was quick on the uptake.

"No. More of a promise. It's only a threat if you don't carry it through."

"The blackmail. What do you want me to do?" Quistis played for time. The rebel's leader was beginning to look familiar now that he'd lowered his guard and started to get more animated. And the man talked like a politician.

Interesting.

"Excuse me?" The tone of voice was apologetic, the speech somebody trying to be noticed but not wanting to intrude. It was the small woman that Seifer was holding at gunpoint. She glared at him with pure hate for a second and then turned to the leader. Seifer lowered the gun but kept it pointed in her general direction, probably, Quistis thought bitterly, as a kind of insurance.

Her voice was high and nervous. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

The leader nodded. "Oh, yes. Would you please let Nia go…?"

The woman, Nia, shook her head and then just as quickly nodded. "No, I mean, yes, of course. But I saw him coming though the hospital. There was an accident."

Seifer groaned. "I forgot about that." He lowered the gun and gave the woman an ungentle push that sent her stumbling out into the room. She came to an ungraceful sliding halt ands then stood looking round at everybody, arms wrapped round her body. A blush stained her cheeks.

 "It fell thought the window. I tried to stop it, but.."

Seifer rolled his eyes and let his rucksack drop to the floor. "What she's trying to say is that when I was looking for you lot a Ruby Dragon found me. It broke into your little base corridor thing, and by now the monsters are going to be in here. With us."

"Why didn't you close it up?" the leader asked her sharply.

The small woman shook her head blindly. "I…"

Seifer interrupted with his usual finesse. "It's a big window. And the corpse will have attracted more monsters. They'll have tracked us here." He seemed more annoyed about forgetting about the monsters than being threatened.

"Why should we listen to you?" The balaclava looked accusing.

"You don't have to. Listen to her." He gestured to Nia with the hand that was holding the gun. She shrank back.

"You are kidding me." the boss said with absolute certainty. He turned to Quistis. "I'm afraid that your stalling tactic isn't going to work on me."

"_My _stalling tactic? I didn't even know about it! What corridors?…."

 To her surprise it was Nia who answered. " We kept the corridors fff-ree. So we could stay in the base and not get caught by the monsters. And now they're in here with us!" Her voice rose half-hysterically.

The voices of the assembled rebels rose in frightened whispers. Over the conversation there was a sudden and faint scream. It went on for a long time.

Seifer grinned. "Hey, welcome to the war."

His and Quistis exchanged grim glances as the screams faded, replaced by the noise of running footsteps. They started out softly and grew louder, a muffled staccato of steps coming closer and closer.

The other rebels in the room looked round frantically. Seifer drew a bead on the opposite door, holding the pistol rock-steady in one hand. He reached down to the bag without looking and drew Hyperion with a hiss. The rebels to his right backed away, only to bump into the people retreating from the door. There was a scuffle in the centre of the room, punctuated by brief swearing as people milled together unsure of the safest place to go. 

Quistis' hand reached to her own bag. She touched the leather-bound hilt of Save The Queen and pulled the whip out of its smooth curve, flicking the tip from the bag and dropping the small rucksack on the floor. In the same movement she pushed back her chair and stood up, her attention, like everyone else in the room, fixed on the door.

There was an almost imperceptible movement in her peripheral vision and she turned her head to follow it, catching Seifer out of the corner of her eye.

He jerked his head, a tiny gesture. The muzzle of the gun wavered, tilting imperceptibly to the mask-clad leader. Quistis shook her head slightly, motioning at him to wait. She took a swift step to the side, opening a clear avenue of sight between herself and the door.

 Seifer nodded fractionally and returned his gaze to the door. The gun slid away, unnoticed by anyone else apart from Quistis as his finger tightened on the trigger, the knuckles white. 

The footsteps were almost deafening now, clanging on metal stairs or walkways with a echoing racket that could have come from anywhere.

Seifer moved casually up to the table, to stand almost within touching distance of Quistis. She could smell him, slightly, the acrid reek of charred cloth and leather and hot metal. Quistis let the tip of Save The Queen flow out along the floor, judging the distance to the opening with her eyes.

The door handle waved up and down a couple of times and then slammed open with a bang, scoring deep gouges in the plaster wall behind it as people piled through.

Someone pushed through to the table, a shortish man with fussy, neatly parted brown hair. His expression was panicked.  Quistis was almost certain that the man didn't even notice anything else apart from his leader.  His hands hit the wooden table top as he shouted out "The monsters! They're everywhere."

Quistis waited until the screams had died down and asked "Did they get anyone?"

It felt almost reassuring to have something to do.  For a moment she could almost understand Seifer's never-happier-than-when-fighting viewpoint. The reins of the negotiations were being snatched out of her hands.  This, she felt, was something she could cope with.

The man seemed to notice her for the first time. He frowned, looking slightly disappointed that his news was not being greeted with frantic gasps by one person at least. "Not yet."

Quistis estimated the length of time it had taken from first hearing the steps to the knock at the door, and compared it with the average speed of a Grat or a Buel. "Then we've got a bit of time."

The new man looked her up and down and said aggressively "What the hell are you doing here?" He seemed to recognise her, and this puzzled Quistis until she remembered the press releases that had accompanied their victory two years ago.  Maybe it was that. 

Seifer snarled. "You…"

Quistis swung round. She'd forgotten about Seifer for a minute, and that was never a good thing, and not safe in company. If you forgot about him he usually did something to make you remember. Normally involving violence, which indeed seemed to be the case.

He glared at the man, hands steady on the gun. Its muzzle was levelled at the forehead of the man, who glanced round wildly as the room went very still.

Quistis put one hand to her forehead. _Just when I can't think it can possibly get any worse._

_Oh, with Seifer, it can ALWAYS get worse, up till he actually manages to end the world. After that, I think we're okay. There's the rub…_

"What? What? My eyes…" Seifer's target looked puzzled and scared.

Quistis watched as the dot traced down to the man's chest. "Seifer. Don't you…"

For a surprise, he wasn't listening to her. "Lynch. I knew there was something funny about you. You're working for this lot. I should have guessed."

The small man went the same colour as tile grout as he looked down at the laser sight centred on his heart. He opened his mouth, obviously thought better of speaking, and then shut it again, standing very still

The door slammed open again as another tide of people fought their way into the room. Despite people being jam-packed shoulder to shoulder around the edges of the room, there was an almost visible ring around Lynch. He looked round frantically, as people gave him a wide berth. Seifer kept the laser sights of the small pistol trained upon his chest.

Quistis noticed the brand of the gun automatically. It certainly had enough firepower to kill, make a hell of a mess and possibly injure people standing on the other side of the man if the bullet ricocheted.  Not good. Very not good.

Seifer snarled "You're a fucking spy."

It was beginning to dawn in the small man's eyes that not being a spy at this precise moment might be a very good idea.

"Seifer?" She made it an order as much as a question.

"When I got arrested this fuck was one of the cops asking me about you. He must've known you were all a SeeD all along. You trying to find out if I was one too?"

Lynch's voice was high and squeaky with stress, but steady. "You're not?"

"I'm _worse_. SeeDs have this weird thing about not shooting unarmed men."

The leader had risen from his seat with the rest. He stepped between Seifer's gun and his target, and Quistis gave him a grudging extra point. _The man's got balls_.

"He was acting on my orders. I told him to question you. We thought you might be a SeeD in disguise. Sometimes it's useful having members in such a diverse range of professions. You see how many people hate the SeeDs?"

Seifer flipped the safety off.

Lynch's face went even whiter, something which Quistis hadn't thought was possible. "Don't kill me." His hands waved in the semaphore of frantic Desperanto. A couple of the rebels' hands started to move stealthily to the bulge of poorly concealed weapons.

Seifer spoke levelly. "Nobody else move."

"Please. Don't kill me"

"Why not?" His tone of voice was so reasonable that Quistis felt momentarily chilled. She was pretty sure that he wouldn't actually shoot anybody, but Seifer was a wild card at the best of times, and it looked to her as if he was playing catch-up with a vengeance.

Lynch seemed to gather his composure for a second. "You _are_ a SeeD. I was right, after all."

"No. I'm the most wanted man in the country, you fuckwits. Call yourself policemen?"

"Seifer." Quistis said quietly. This time it was an order. His head snapped distractedly towards her, but his eyes never left the man. He didn't lower the gun.

Quistis bristled. 

The leader rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and said "Please let him go. Lynch is guilty of gross incompetence at worse. Can't you rein your dog in?"

Quistis opened her mouth, thinking grimly Lynch might be guilty of incompetence now, but give Seifer five seconds and it would be murder one.

She never saw Seifer's right hand move. Keeping his eyes on the cowering figure of Lynch before him, he swung the blade of Hyperion out in a ninety-degree angle arc, holding the heavy weapon levelled straight at the throat of the leader, who, unsurprisingly, shut up.

"That dog thing…it's getting really old. You, on the other hand, won't if you come out with another crack like that. Just who the hell are you, anyway?

The leader glanced at Quistis and then must have decided he had nothing left to lose.  Quistis didn't blame him.  She'd seen the size of the old hospital.  It was likely that there was an unbelievable amount of monsters in the building.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Asbel Shylock. Politician, entrepreneur."

The name sounded familiar to Quistis.  She searched the filing cabinet of her memory, trying hard to place the name.

"Seifer Almasy. Ex-knight. Mercenary."

Quistis scowled. "Seifer, stop playing with your food." _I know you're a power junkie, but this isn't helping anyone_

To her relief he lowered both guns. The leader, to his credit, never moved, though Quistis could see that the yachting sweater was dark with sweat under his arms. Lynch sagged.

 The leader, Asbel, gestured him back and he went, perceptibly weak in the knees.  Seifer's glare followed him.

"It wasn't just Lynch. Bennett?"

There was a silence. A tall man stepped forwards. He, too, looked familiar to Quistis, She took the time to mentally reclothe him in sensible black, stuff a load of papers into his hand and add a fake moustache…

The religious fanatic.

"Bennett is a good operative for us. A lot of people believed the reappearance of the sorceresses and the Lunar Cry was a punishment from Hyne."

The whole plan was beginning to make a strange kind of sense to Quistis.

She kicked herself for not noticing as she realised with a sinking heart that she'd underestimated the CLA.

"I knew there was something going on with you and Lynch." Seifer turned to Quistis. He sounded slightly vindicated.  "After they" he pointed at Lynch "…arrested me, I heard him." turning to Bennett."….talking with Lynch about the SeeD. That's why I came to get you. I thought you were in trouble."

"You don't have to protect me." Quistis pointed out the obvious. "So what were you doing? Who else is in this group? The hotel receptionist? The room cleaner?"

"Hardly. That was just a stroke of luck for us." the religious guy replied. His adam's apple bobbed nervously like the bubbles in a lava lamp.

Lynch looked from face to face. "I don't care what you're doing. I don't care about this group.  I'm not staying for another minute in a room with him."

He pointed a shaking hand at Seifer, who looked vaguely flattered, pushed past the massed ranks of people and grabbed the door-knob.  The small policeman seemed to have forgotten about the monsters for the moment, or at least decided that they were the lesser of two evils.

"I wouldn't go out there." Quistis warned.

Lynch opened the door. "I don't believe you, I'm…"

A dark shadow loomed up from the dark silhouette of the doorframe.  It reared six feet tall, from its furry feet to its bullet-shaped head. The four sickle-shaped claws jutting from its back touched the ceiling.

The CLA member paused for a fatal second, holding the door in one hand. The claws hovered in the air for a moment and then swept down.

Everybody winced, with the exception of Seifer, who watched with interest, and Quistis, who was half-way across the room before anybody else had thought to move

She yanked the man back by the collar of his jacket, pushing into the room with an unglamorous shove, and raised Save The Queen. She sent the tip of the whip curling towards the monster. It backed away, drawing back into the dank shadows of the corridor. 

Quistis spared a glance backwards to check on the policeman. She didn't hold much hope, having seen many such bears go through cadets like a meat grinder and with about as much finesse. Death Claws weren't called that for nothing.

The bear snarled. She took a cautious step back. Lynch lay on the floor. He didn't move.

Everybody froze.  Nobody else made a run for the door. The intrepid and daring massed members of the Children's Liberation Front made like statues.

Seifer cursed, dropped Hyperion and lunged for the plywood door. The pale belly of the Death Claw moved closer and then disappeared as he slammed it shut, grappling with the handle.

"Chair."

Quistis hooked one of the conference chairs with one foot and shoved it across the room towards him. Seifer grabbed it, slid it under the handle and tipped it back on its legs, trapping the handle in the up position with the back of the chair. There was a thwarted scream from the other side of the door.

Quistis took charge, her voice carrying easily over the hushed shocked masses. "We better…..."

There was a thud.

A long scytheshaped blade punched through the door six inches from Seifer's right ear.

He cursed and joined Quistis in the centre of the room. "Better make a move. That's not going to hold it for long."

Lynch rolled over and sat up.  To Quistis' relief he appeared fine, though he was holding his shirt out away from his body.  From the looks of things the Death Claw had ripped into nothing more than cloth.  He got up and joined the crowd, shivering and pale, but silent.

Another of the negotiation committee gave Quistis a shocked glance. "We can't stay in here!"

"Maybe not so much of a good idea to go out there." Quistis pointed out diplomatically.

"I'm not taking orders from you, SeeD."

Seifer bristled.  Quistis rolled her eyes. "It's good advice. Take it or leave"

"Ignore her. Please." Seifer smiled dangerously.  There had been more evil smiles in the history of the world, but most of them were associated with the kind of mastermind who giggled and stroked white cats. "Now you see what they pay us for."

The leader got up looked round at the assembled figures of the remaining CLA "The most important thing is to stay calm."

"That'll be difficult, since you're almost certainly going to die." Seifer said with black humor.

Quistis coughed.

"Okay, we. We're all going to die. Happy now?" He sounded tired and extremely cynical.

Quistis had never been less impressed with his talent for making inflammatory comments in uncertain situations. The remaining CLA looked terrified enough as it was.

_I would be annoyed if it wasn't almost certainly true. _

She turned to the leader, speaking quickly and concisely, the part of her brain that dealt automatically with strategy without even thinking taking over smoothly. "What's the fastest way out?"

"I don't know."

Quistis rethought. "Up or down?"

"The man extended a hand and rocked it back and forth in the international gesture of somebody hazarding a guess. "Down, I guess. We're two floors above the main entrance."

"Which is, uh, barred shut." Seifer said unhelpfully.

There was a burst of conversation.

"You're not thinking…"

"This is crazy!"

"She's right. It's all we can do."

"But we've got no weapons!"

 Seifer picked up his bag and slung it on the table, where it landed with an audible thud and clink of small metal objects. "That's ….less of a problem. Who's already got weapons?"

There were a few worried looks. A couple of people tentatively raised their hands.

"Okay, who's got weapons and knows how to use them? You lot bombed Garden? Well, guess you can buy expertise on anything."  He took a long knife from the unresisting hand of the nearest man. "You kill people with these? Well, guess you could. How long does it take to die of tetanus, anyway?"

Quistis almost smiled. She drew the leader to one side, deferring to Seifer's expertise in sharp and pointy objects. He pulled another pistol from the side pockets of his bag and drew several knives, which Quistis recognised as the Sabatiers from his kitchen.

"Okay. It looks like we're going to have to go really basic. This is a knife. You hold it by the blunt end and stick the pointy end into monsters."

Quistis smiled faintly and tuned out. She moved closer to the leader. "Do _you_ have any weapons?"

"I don't really think we need…" His voice was stunned, cultured, with a faint Dollet accent, deepened by the stress.

"We do. Despite what you might think, he hasn't brought enough for everyone."

Quistis reached to one side, waiting as the man pulled back to allow her room, and then grabbed the tip of his black balaclava with one hand and neatly jerked it off. "You look familiar."

Sorry about the late update thing: I had all my exams in one week and couldn't manage a new chapter away For an extras bonus, I got sent this theme soundtrack to help with my work. Enjoy!

South Down The Coast-a relaxing soundtrack for a summer holiday-

Mrs Potter's Lullaby ( Counting Crows), Let Robeson Sing (Manic Street Preachers)

Jack Of Hearts (Bob Dylan), Sullivan Street (Counting Crows), (You said you'd wait till) The End of the World ( U2), Wild (Poe), Taxi Ride (Tori Amos), How Are You? (David Usher), Call And Answer (Barenaked Ladies), Follow You Down (Gin Blossoms), White Flag (Barenaked Ladies), When the World Ends (Dave Matthews Band), Who Need Sleep (Barenaked Ladies), Amazed (Poe),Ordinary Superman (Counting Crows)

Reviews: by the way, thanks everybody Lots of people liked the last chapter.  This one's a bit more plotful.

Amber Tinted: It's not really a trilogy. Government Bloodhounds, South Down The Coast and the as-yet-unnamed third part to the story are all one big plot line.Think of it as the same story spread over three instalments.

Breaker-One: I know the Ruby Dragon was a bit scarier than the game, but hey, fighting something three times your size has got to suck.

Ghost 140: No, she's not going to die. Probably

Mana Angel: That was exactly what I was getting at when I put Nia in. She's not a freak or a wuss, she's just a regular person. Seifer and Quistis are not regular people, and this kind of gets a bit lost when you're always seeing things from their viewpoint.

Melete: Living in a flat doesn't bug me that much most of the time, it's just the two months a year I work like a bitch and study really hard to cram for my exams just happens to be the time everybody else starts having parties and barbecues and fun stuff.

Nynaeve77: Flawed characters are the most interesting. Seifer isn't so much flawed as completely cracked, and Quistis has her own annoying little habits.

Prodigy; Ta. I like Government Bloodhounds but I think I've come on a lot since then. I'm glad you like it too. I think its main problem was me not actually having played the game at all for the first eight or so chapters of GB…so I was writing fanfiction fanfiction if you will. But la. Not something I'd advise.

Quistis88: Not so much as sharing the fic with you as inflicting it upon…

Sheep the adventurer: Thanks for your impressed and complimentary comments. Seatbelts: wow? Dawn of the dead, huh? I didn't see that one, though I did manage to catch Shaun of the Dead. We need more rom-zom-coms, people.

Seventhe: SDTC definitely ends with a bang rather than a whimper. Two more chapters to go! 

Sickness In Salvation. Ooh, I'd hate to disappoint you and cut things off just when they're getting interesti..…..

Superviolinist: You're scaring me….

Verdannii: Thanks for the review, d00d, what's with the rabbit? Meh?

Wonderful Failure. Thanks for the lovely compliments, It'd be nice if that was true. Maybe in thirty years or so I'll be able to write something both original and good, for now I enjoy the fanfiction.

Kate (anyone else got any good ideas/or shall we just stay low until the black smoke clears.)


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Happiness Is A Warm Gu...

Chapter Nineteen: Happiness Is A Warm Gun.

She's not a girl who misses much.

She's not acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand,

Like a lizard on the windowpane.

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnailed boots,

Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy working overtime.

Happiness is a warm gun.

-The Beatles.

"You look familiar."

Quistis reached up, took the woollen bobble of the balaclava in her hand and pulled it off. She meant to unmask the man in one swift movement, but the balaclava stuck on his ears.

"Ow!"

Quistis ignored him and gave the mask a rather harder tug. It came off and she yanked her hand away, feeling coarse wool at her fingertips. He didn't try and pull it back on, which was just as well, she thought.  It would have been rather undignified.

She held the mask tightly in a closed fist and stared at the face underneath, trying to place it. 

The leader of the CLA was a small and sweaty man. Small, because his eyes were on exactly the same level as hers. Sweaty, because he looked like he was melting, no doubt a side effect of wearing a knitted wool ski-mask in thirty degree heat.

  Quistis narrowed her eyes and treated the man to a ferocious sapphire-blue stare.

She asked "Who are you?" quietly. It seemed to be a day for the revealing of hidden identities.

He said nothing.

The body language and the face rang several bells. Quistis pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to recall the name that went with them.

She could hear Seifer's voice from behind her. "How're you on ammo….is that it? What you going to do, throw the guns at the monsters?" and got a sudden mental image of the sea and a small coffee shop. 

It hadn't been that many mornings ago, but it felt like several thousand. Back when Selphie and Rinoa had been visiting and she'd been trying to keep Seifer out of their way. Something to do with trees. The House Of Leaves. That was it.

_"There's some election going on in Dollet at the moment. That's what they're all talking about now……"_

That was where she recognised the man from. He was a candidate for the Dollet Dukedom Parliament elections. 

Quistis sighed and said "You're a politician." with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Politics meant trouble.

He gave an enigmatic smile. "I never said I wasn't."

"Is Asbel whatever your real name?"

"Do you really think I'd be that stupid?"

Quistis gave a contemptuous glance around, taking in the surroundings and the frightened rebels "From the available evidence? Yes!" She sounded angry, and was. It never paid to be confused.

She folded Save The Queen, clipping the whip onto the tiny hooks attached to her belt. "Why are you fighting us?"

The man drew himself up like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight. Quistis briefly wished that she'd worn boots with heels so she could look down at him. "Because it's the right thing to do!"

"I beg to differ." Her voice was so dry you could have used it as a towel.

"This organisation was just a rabble when I joined!"

Quistis raised her voice, pitching it so that the other rebels wouldn't be able to avoid hearing. She was aware that most of them probably knew the score, but any who didn't might be swayed by her arguments.  "So you used your children's rights agenda as a smokescreen for the main issue? That was all a lie? You're not really worried about the kids at all?"  She rested her hands on her hips.

Asbel, if that was really his name, looked indignant. "No! The child abuse issue is just one in a number of issues the Gardens will have to tackle sooner or later. But we want the Gardens to be turned over to the military."

"Good luck." Quistis said, cynically. She heard the voices behind her fall silent.  People were listening. Her nails tapped quietly on the chains of her whip.

"You could use your knowledge to train the armies and then we wouldn't have to use you for every emergency! It'd be more cost-effective for the governments. The Gardens would lose their edges. Soldiers would have better resources! More money. They'd be able to cope with more situations. Taxes might be lower.  It'd be for the good of the people."

"Taxes are never lower. The Gardens pay tax." Quistis pointed out.  Part of her took time out to be impressed by the politician's fervour.  The rest pointed out acerbically that politicians who used the phrase '_for the good of the people_' either didn't know what they were talking about or were trying to get elected.

"Soldiers get disaffected with poor pay and always being second best."

"That's their problem." Quistis said. The average SeeD looked down upon the military, herself included. They were just, she'd decided, not as good.

"People leave the military to sign up for more lucrative positions with the Gardens."

Quistis sighed. "Balamb takes only soldiers below sixteen though. As does Trabia."

"Galbadia work much more closely with the military." her opponent pointed out

"Isn't that what you want?" she answered, thinking _I'm not defending Martine_

 "The Gardens influence politics by just being there. If they're absorbed into the civic structure the leaders of the Gardens lose power which passes onto the governments." He looked vaguely proud.

"We can't." Quistis didn't bother mentioning the real stumbling-block. The Sorceresses.

_The first rule of Garden: you don't talk about the sorceresses. The second rule of Garden : you don't talk about the sorceresses.  And the third rule is 'always get paid.'_

_They think we're weird enough without trying to explain Squall's 'fighting across generations theory'. Everybody's forgotten about the wars a little bit._

_I'd like to try and keep it that way._

She gave up trying to explain and retorted "We can't lose our neutral status. That's when trouble starts. The wars wouldn't have been as bad if Galbadia hadn't allied themselves with the government to help Ultimecia. Now let's try to join together and find a way out of this mess. Politics don't matter now. You need our help to stay alive."

The politician gave a weary smile. "You don't understand. If I allow you to help I'm betraying my principles. I'll go alone. And whoever wants to come with me can come too." 

Everybody began to talk at once.

Seifer joined Quistis, leaving his spare weapons on the table for the rebels to fight over. Hyperion was slung over his shoulder, as usual, and he tapped it restlessly against his collarbone as he moved. It was a habit that had always really annoyed Quistis, and as he turned towards her to slump onto the table it almost took somebody's eye out. He coughed and said "We should go. These guys' re going to learn an important lesson about violence sometime soon."

Quistis raised one eyebrow as he came closer and dropped the skimask on the floor, adjusting her spectacles with her free hand. Her eyes ached, making all her surroundings look slightly blurred. "What kind of lesson about violence?"

"What happens when you're not really good at it."  He grinned, moved slightly closer and rested his head in his hand for a second, rubbing at his scar. "You sure you're okay? Only you look really rough."

Quistis got a sudden urge to kiss him in front of everyone, more of a way of picking sides than any demonstration of romance. Instead she smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"What do you think they're going to do?"

She shrugged. "I'll take whoever wants to come with me. Those that don't….much as I hate to say it, they're not my problem."

"Can't you make them?" He didn't sound much bothered either way.

Quistis'eyes unfocused behind her spectacles. "'Rule 435b: A SeeD shall endeavour to protect and defend civilians at all time unless this directly contradicts his or her mission or if the individual/group in question expressly refuses his or her help.' Which they have.  Or will, in a few minutes."

"And you always follow the rules." Seifer said. It wasn't a question.

"I can't make them stay."

"Oh, I haven't got a problem with that. It'll draw the monsters off _us_."

"I know." Quistis said fatalistically. It hurt, sometimes. At times like this, when everything was going to hell in a handbasket and there was nobody else to turn to, she got a little tired of always being the one that had to make decisions. The other ninety-nine per cent of her job she enjoyed.

She said, optimistically "Maybe they'll change their mind. The monsters will be back in a minute." Her SeeD uniform was too heavy for the heat. She touched the SeeD patch on her arm, the black and white twisted sigil of the Gardens surrounded by Balamb's blue lightning. Although she knew that the itching was only due to the side effects of wearing heavy material in a hot climate, it felt like a betrayal.

_No. Don't think about that. It can wait._

She raised her head and said brightly "One thing's for sure, it can't get much worse."

Seifer nodded. Quistis noted absently that his stance was half-relaxed, half poised for action with the absolute stillness of a soldier between battles. She was pretty sure that she was the same.

Nia paid no attention to the conversation.  Most of the crowd were staring at the SeeD or at their leader, waiting to be told what to do by one or the other. Nobody noticed her as she seated herself at the radio desk and fiddled with the switches.

She'd become aware shortly after the Death Claw had almost gutted Lynch that they'd never get out alive. They needed reinforcements, and she knew one sure-fire way to get them fast. Nia adjusted the radio channel, turned the volume right down and hunted the frequencies until she heard a faint snatch of speech.

"-al--a Garden, oh-two-four-seven-one."

She lowered her voice cautiously and hissed into the mike. "Hello? Galbadia?. I'm-"

A clipped and robotic voice replied. "_Hello, this is __Galbadia__Garden__'s answering service.  We can't take your call right now, but if you'd like to leave a message we'll get back to you after the tone.  Alternatively, if you are calling on business, please press one.  If you have a monster problem, please press two. If you are a SeeD, please press three…_."

"Hello? Hello? Listen, I have some information, I need to speak to Martine! We've caught Seifer Almasy! We're in the old hospital in Velalisier, in Trabia! Hello?"

_"….if you are in a situation of life and death, please press seven.."   _

_Beep…_

Nia stabbed button seven with a dirty finger, glancing over one shoulder to make sure nobody had noticed what she was doing.

"_Hello. If you would like to leave your name, the nature of your emergency and the number of remaining party members we will rate your call in order of priority and get back to you shortly.  Please repeat your number twice."_

_Beep.._

She swallowed and hissed "I'm in the old hospital in Velalisier in Trabia. We've caught Seifer Almasy, well, not so much caught, but he's here, and there's monsters all over and.."

Nia suddenly noticed the other SeeD in the corner, talking to Asbel.  She held a black ski mask in one hand. Their leader was unmasked, and they were both having a heated discussion. The conclusion she came up with was not good.

"Ohshit, got to go. The number's 0117 961225. That's oh-one-one-seven nine-six-one-two-two-five. Please help!"

Nia exited the channel and listened as the line went dead. She placed the receiver down on the counter carefully and slipped off the stool. She didn't turn the radio back on, being completely unaware of the previous radio agreement with Garden.

_"Can we possibly route the transmission through our own radio system?"_

_"I'll have to contact my Balamb liason… Xu? Do you copy?"_

_"I copy, Blue Leader. Tell them if we lose this signal, even for a moment, we move in."_

_"……That would be acceptable. But as per the contract, if we lose the transmission then we shall be forced to take action."_

If she had known, would it have mattered?

Maybe.

Quistis was wrenched from her thoughts by a polite cough.  She raised her head.

Asbel, still maskless, was standing a few metres away. Seifer was watching him with a kind of careful aggressive wariness, arms folded across his chest. Hyperion lay on the table behind him. Quistis took this as a sign that Seifer was finally learning some valuable self-control.

She looked the politician right in the eye and said calmly "Have you made your decision?"

"Yes." Asbel's voice wavered for a moment and then firmed. "About twenty people are going to come with me. We'll take the group's weapons and head for the exit."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer an escort?" Quistis asked.

"You must understand. Our principles…"

Quistis cut him off briskly. "There's one thing I don't understand. Okay, so you want to abolish the Gardens to pay more attention to the governments. What's in it for you? Not the group, but you, personally?"

"I…"

"What?" Quistis put teeth into her tone." You don't want to explain. Fine, let me do it for you."

"Not here.." Asbel's protest was weak.

Quistis couldn't work out whether he just didn't care any more or whether he'd done the sums as well and worked out that the chances of the escaping to tell tales were dropping by the minute. She nodded and said. "Yes. Where everybody can hear. You're a Dollet politician. I think you must have something to do with the military departments. You said that dissolving the Gardens would take a lot of power from the Headmasters. I think most of it'll go to you. Or at least somebody who you're connected to. That's why you want us gone.  Thought I do admit the strength of your convictions surprises me."

Seifer grinned, listening in. "Oh. It's all about power."

That must have stung the man because he waved one hand and said indignantly. "No! It's about what's best for Dollet. What's best for the world."

Quistis almost believed him. It would have been nice to. But just because somebody believed they were telling the truth didn't mean that they weren't lying.

And if by some freak of chance the politician escaped with most of his group, and Quistis's party didn't, the PR would be horrendous. In effect, it would prove that ordinary people, with determination but no magic or training, could defeat the monsters. Which might eventually lead to no more Gardens.

The obviously ruthless solution was to slaughter the lot of them and blame it on the monsters, but Quistis balked at such wholesale massacre. Most of the people present, she guessed, were just along for the ride.  They'd had no idea that their plans were about to go quite so badly wrong. "Are your principles worth your life?"

"Yes!"

"Why?" Seifer broke into the conversation. There was a grudging respect in his eyes.

"You really believe that the world will be a better place without us?" Quistis asked, grudgingly admiring of the man's principles if not his logic.

"Yes." Asbel turned to the small group huddled on the other side of the room. A few pushed weapons over to him and the grim-faced group of people following him, wearing expressions of faint guilt.  The rest avoided his gaze.

Seifer rolled his eyes and loaded Hyperion, slotting each bullet neatly into place "He's crazy"

Quistis gave the politician a pacifying smile. "I can see your point, though."

She turned to Seifer and whispered quietly, only half-joking: "Certainly a lot of people believe the world would be a better place without you."

Seifer shrugged. "But not you?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"No."

"That's all right then."

They both watched as the two groups pulled away from each other.  To Quistis' eyes they were indistinguishable, except the leavers were smaller in number and better armed. Some people hugged or kissed.  She wondered bitterly if they really knew what they were up against, if anybody in the group had even seen a monster, yet alone fought one. Raising her voice she tried one desperate, last appeal "If you're scared of us: we kill, but they can kill you worse. Don't do it."

Nobody paid any attention. Quistis noticed both the religious fanatic and the policeman Lynch join Asbel's group, obviously preferring the devil they didn't know. Watching, she bit her lip as the first person reached for the door handle.

There was a sudden cry. "Wait!"

The voice was thin, desperate and familiar. 

"What?" Asbel asked sharply.

"I've found a way to get more soldiers!" It was Nia, the small, comfortable woman that Seifer had been holding as a hostage. She was standing in the middle of Asbel;s group, her voice shaking. "I called the Galbadians. They're coming now."

Quistis winced. Her hand reached up to rub at the bridge of her nose, but with great self-control, she kept quiet.

Seifer shrugged with the expression of somebody who had long ago burned all his boats. "Oh, good. Backup."

"You'll get what you deserve. Martine wants you dead!"

A second shrug. "Eventually."

The small woman stared at him, speechless. Her face wore an expression of pure hate. On one hand, Quistis couldn't blame her.  On the other, well, Quistis had been spending all her holiday carefully not calling Garden.  It would be a shame if all that restraint was wasted.

Besides, there were several facts that the small woman probably didn't know about the Gardens, which probably explained why Seifer wasn't much bothered. For starters, the whole "saw him die" thing. Quistis cleared her throat and threw in her two cents. "Even if they believe you, they probably won't get here in time. And even if they do they won't be packing for monsters."

Nia stared at her incredulously. "So you're going to do nothing?"

"No I'm going to do what we just planned. Me and Seifer are going to get out. If anybody wants to come, fine. If we get a large group we'll have to stop at your weapons room on the way out to arm everybody."  She swallowed. "If you don't, then it's your choice. But don't bank on the Galbadians coming to save you. That's all."

Seifer looked supremely unconcerned. He spoke loudly, obviously intending to be overheard. "They won't believe her. Pity. We need the backup."

"I'll call Balamb!" Nia threatened.

 Seifer reached behind him and picked up Hyperion. "Hyne's sake, I said I was going back. Quistis, why don't _you_ call-" He paused, glancing around "Hey, Quis, did you hear that?"

There was a descending whine as around them the building's remaining power cycled down. The lights flickered madly and faded out, leaving everybody staring round at each other in the suddenly dim light.

"Weren't you going to go back to Balamb anyway?" Quistis said brightly. "When we get out?"

"Okay"

It was the special Seifer okay meaning 'I'll say yes right now, but I'm going to do what the fuck I like anyway'. Quistis took it as assent. She stood up. "They're leaving."

Seifer got up and prowled halfway to the door, big and graceful, but undecided, as if he'd forgotten something but couldn't remember what it was. Asbel faced him, unintimidated, with a kind of dignity.  Quistis joined them.

"We're going now" the politician said. A small sea of faces backed him up. Quistis did a quick head-count, surprised at the number of people who had elected to follow their leader. It came to about half and half.

"Are you sure?"

"We're sure." Pale faces nodded grimly behind him.

Quistis would have loved to counter with '_will you still be sure thirty minutes later, when sometime nasty's snacking on your intestines and you're still only a hundred metres away from where you started'_ but resisted the temptation. It seemed both inadequate and lame to wish them good luck, but she did it anyway. "Hope you make it."

Asbel nodded and made for the second door. It was the exit Quistis would have chosen.  After all, they both knew that there was a Death Claw waiting outside the other one, and there was no sense in borrowing trouble.  

The remaining rebels watched in a slightly shamefaced manner as their colleagues followed him out.

The door closed behind them. To Quistis's surprise there were no screams or snarls or gunfire.  Just the noises of people's feet tramping away down the corridors and then a long silence that went on and on.

_Six hundred miles away:  the outskirts of Caraway (formerly __Deling__City__), Galbadia…._

Three SeeDs wandered through the endless and confusing corridors of Galbadia Garden.  Technically they were supposed to be manning the emergency lines, but it was three a.m Galbadia time and a quiet time for missions. Two were eating doughnuts and the third was half way through a hotdog, all unaware that their night was just about to get marginally more interesting.

They slowed as they reached their tiny shared office, and then speeded up a tinny beep became audible through the thin plywood door. "Isn't that-"

"…..the answering machine!"

The SeeDs broke into a run, showering powdered sugar down their uniforms. The first one threw open the door. The last of them slipped over with a scream on the remnants of their latest game of indoor golf as the red button on the answerphone blinked like a small and angry red eye.  Somebody pressed the button on the phone and they all listened to the garbled message.

"….-in Trabia! We've caught Seifer Almasy…..ot so much caught, but…..ere, and …umber oh-one-one-seven nine-six-one-two-two-five.  Please help!"

The SeeDs looked at each other.  One of them finally shrugged and stabbed the delete key."

"Think it's true?"

"How can it be?  The bastard's dead. You heard Rahel."

"Just some crank caller."

"Put the answerphone back on. Who's in on poker?"

_Meanwhile, back in Velalisier….. _

Quistis swallowed and shouldered her rucksack.  She looked at the sea of expectant faces surrounding her and came to the end of her motivational speech. "Remember-we're hunting them. They're not hunting you. Don't forget. Let's move out."

There was a mutter of quiet conversation from around her. A growl came from the room's second door. The handle rattled noisily as something heavy thumped against the other side.

"Go! Seifer, you're with me up front. We'll clear the corridors for the rebels until we can pick up more weapons. Everybody else, stay alert. Ready?"

There was a general murmur that indicated that readiness might indeed be in order.  Seifer unpeeled himself from the wall he was currently slouching against and joined Quistis. He sniggered. "Liked your little call to arms."

"Shut up." Quistis opened the nearest door and gave the corridor a cautious glance.  It was empty. 

Seifer ignored her. "You should have made one to the other lot.  Two words: 'Die soon'"

Quistis didn't bother to dignify his comment with a reply. She pointed down the corridor. "Can you see anything out there?"

"Looks clear…..wait. Grat at twelve o' clock.  But that's all. Shouldn't be a problem."

"That's _hours_ away." one of the rebels said plaintively.

"I see it. Right. The sooner we go the less time there is for the monsters to regroup." Quistis said. She took a deep breath and started down the hallway.  Seifer hooked the blunt side of Hyperion over his shoulder and followed, tapping the gunblade absently against his collar bone. The rebels followed him as she carefully kept the Grat in view.

The vegetable-like monster was moving slowly down the corridor towards them all, snarling as it heard the sound of approaching people. Quistis sent Save The Queen slashing towards it. "Mine"

The whip curled through the air with a noise like ripping silk.  Quistis had calculated perfectly. It laced round all four of the monsters tentacles in a neat arc, pinning them together like the string round a bouquet of flowers. Seifer jumped into the battle, slicing away two of the thick tentacles with surgical precision so that the freed lash of Quistis's whip tightened round the remaining tentacles, cutting viciously into flesh.  She pulled until her knuckles went white and her joints ached, hands slipping on the laced leather of the whip handle. Above the whip's binding, Grat tentacles waved wildly.

Seifer swung at them and missed. "Keep it still, for fuck's sake!"

The Grat snarled and spat poison. Seifer swung at the tentacles for the second time and missed again as Quistis's hands started to slip. She screamed "Hurry up!"

Seifer aimed another swipe at the Grat's body. "I'm trying!" This one bit home and the Grat roared, badly wounded, but not dead.

Quistis dropped Save The Queen and made a complicated gesture with her free hand. "Firaga."

Seifer had the sense to move back slightly as a column of bright flame burst from her fingertips illuminating the dingy corridor like strobe lighting.

Quistis opened her eyes.

_Damn. Still there._

The Grat looked surprised, burped, and exploded.     

Quistis closed her eyes again just in time. She felt warmth and wetness spatter across her face as pieces of exploded mutant plant rained liberally down from the ceiling.

"Niiice" Seifer flicked a piece of Grat skin from his T shirt.

"At least the corridor's pretty narrow, so they can only come to us head –on. That's a plus." Quistis said hopefully.  She shaded her eyes, staring down the dim hallway.  Nothing moved.  The air stank of charred monster flesh and the ozone aftertaste of powerful battle magic.

Seifer leant on the wall beside her, gunblade drawn.  He glanced down at the mess of ichor and monster blood decorating the blade, wiping it on his trouser leg with an expression of mild distaste. If anything, it made the blade slightly dirtier than before.

Quistis turned behind her as the nearest civilian caught up with them. "The way's clear for the time being. We move-"

There was a scream and a crash from further down the hallway as most of the wall and two of the rebels disappeared in a cloud of plasterboard dust.

"….on." Quistis finished her sentence.

Seifer punched the wall and then inspected his knuckles with interest. The blow left a faint but discernable dent in the plasterboard. "Walls? You call these walls? Whoever built this hospital should have been shot."

"You can do it later. I think somebody needs saving." Quistis said.

In fact the surrounding rebels had managed to vanquish the monster by the time they go there, but it did nothing for morale. 

Quistis raised her eyes to the grubby plastic tiles as if expecting divine intervention. They were marked with water from leaking pipes and trailed wiring. "What about the ceiling?"

"That's okay" the nearest person said. "The floors were built to hold medical equipment.  Nothing's going to break through that" he pointed at the ceiling, "short of a guided missile."

"They just look like polystyrene tiles." Quistis said.

"They are. There's a gap above them and above _that_ it's just steel girders and concrete slabs. And the gap's small, so not much can fit in." 

"Wait a minute." Seifer said.

"What?"

"On my way here I saw footprints." Seifer said. He gestured at the marks their own feet had left "…in the dust. And then they just stopped. Like something had just pulled them up into the ceiling."

"Oh, that. I forgot about that."

Quistis was puzzled "Forgot about what?"

The rebel delved into a capacious trouser pocket and pulled out a can. It was matt white and looked like a spraypainting canister with no label. "Go on, try it." he said, and smiled. He looked about seventeen, with painfully obvious ginger hair.

Quistis weighed the canister thoughtfully in her hand. She checked the base for signs of the bottom being levered off. It didn't rattle when she shook it and felt light, too light to hold mechanical parts. Cautiously, she pointed it in the direction of the floor and pressed the trigger. All that happened was that a thin white mist sprayed out, smelling vaguely like disinfectant. It settled in a velvety thick layer on the floor and Quistis' boots.

Seifer bent down and traced a finger through the spray, sniffed it cautiously and then wiped his hand absently on Quistis's top. She gave him an evil look, rubbing her boots clean on the back of her tights.

Seifer ignored her "That's a bit paranoid."

Quistis shook the can, which rattled. "What is it?"

"Dust." the rebel said gleefully.

Quistis shook the can again. "You're kidding me."

"No. Spray-on dust. So nobody can see our footsteps."

Seifer gave the young rebel an approving look. "That's _really_ paranoid."

"It's a pity it's no good for monsters." Quistis said. "They'd track the scent." She looked around as the party reached a crossroads and asked. "Which way?"

The ginger haired cadet pointed straight on, gulped and stopped.

Looking around, Quistis saw the reason why. At first the three intersecting corridors appeared just as dark and dingy as the rest. They looked normal until you saw something moving in the darkness, and looked closer. Merging with the shadows, the floor appeared to be gently undulating.  She caught glimpses of narrowed, slitlike eyes and jagged claws. 

Creeps, and closing fast.

Quistis realised with a sinking feeling that the rebels had followed her right into the intersection. She pitched her voice to combat volume and screamed "Get together!"

The rebel responded with predictable disorganisation. Some people panicked and shied away from the monsters. Some dropped into a close approximation of combat stances. Others made for Quistis.  Several milled around. One said "What?" loudly.

Quistis gritted her teeth and closed with the nearest Creep, whose skeletal body didn't seem to feel the slashes of Save The Queen. Quistis flicked the whip around in a complicated figure-of-eight pattern in the confined space and tried again with no luck.

She considered all the options, battle plans crystallising in her mind fast as lightning

_One: Shiva._

Quistis dared not risk drawing with nobody for cover, and Seifer was too far away for backup, hacking at something on the floor with all the finesse of a bulldozer.

She sighed_: Oh, screw it…_andgrabbed the shoulder of the nearest rebel. "Cover me?"

The boy's eyes rolled madly in his head, face turned so pale that his freckles stood out painfully. "_How!_"  

Quistis delved deep down inside herself, feeling the icy kiss of Shiva spread out along her veins. "You've got no weapons?"

He shook his head in confusion. Quistis passed him the handle of Save The Queen with fingers grown suddenly numb from cold. Her breath clouded in the air as the sounds of shattering ice dulled her hearing. "Just keep them away!"

She summoned. The corridor blanked out in a swirl of pale ice crystals, stripes of yellow and blue flashing in a sleek whirl of colour. 

It could have been several hours or only seconds later that Quistis reopened her eyes. Blond hair tattered around her field of vision as she fought to focus. It was hot, and suffocatingly close and she smelt horribly of Grat innards.

Gathering her thoughts, she looked around, noticing with pleasure that the Creeps in front of her were lightly rimed with a thin layer of frost.  As she watched a few shook themselves like dogs, shedding frost like dandruff. A couple didn't move, the cold too much for their primitive nervous systems to cope with.

The cadet to whom she'd lent her whip was nowhere to be seen.

Somebody screamed, behind her.

Quistis swung round. The corridor behind her was a frantic melee of grappling bodies, the rebels clumping like sour milk, frantically using what little weapons they possessed to slash and hack at the monsters. She caught up with the nearest group. One of the rebels looked stunned, smoking gently from the aftereffects of some kind of Thunder variant. Quistis cast a Curaga without even thinking, the magic flowing from her fingertips in a swift cool rush. She found the boy to whom she'd lent Save The Queen in the melee and gently took her whip from his hand.

 "There's too many!" someone else screamed.

And there was.  Quistis frantically searched for an exit, some way out of the lethal crossway they'd found themselves in. Coming up with nothing, she decided to take the party further on.  At least in the hallway there were only two ways for monsters to attack.

She pitched her voice into battle mode, a cut-crystal scream that would have got a corpse up and walking. "_Move!_"

Thankfully no such motivation was needed. Everybody seemed to be alive. She couldn't help thinking that maybe life would have been easier for her if maybe one of two of the more expendable rebels hadn't made it.  Quistis squashed the thought almost immediately. It was worthy of Seifer at his most survivalist.

Quistis cleared her throat and shouted again. "Move!" When everybody was on their feet and walking she stayed where she was, letting the crowd break and reform around her, an obstinate pebble. An idea was beginning to form in her mind and if she thought too much about it neither her or anybody else was going to go through with it.

Later she would admit that although it was what she would have done with any of the other SeeDs, it was not particularly the right tactic for this specific situation.

After all, what was the use of having three GFs if you could use only two of them?

She looked frantically around for Seifer. Junctioning Bahamut to one of the civilians would be suicide. GFs in the hands of untrained personnel could be lethal. The best case scenario led to the death of the civilian with the probable loss of the GF. The worse case scenario was something she didn't even want to think about.

"Hey, Seifer?"

He shoved a trailing rebel between the shoulderblades. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to give you Bahamut. We need more firepower."

Seifer shouted "Hang on…" If she'd given him time to finish it she guessed that the complete sentence would have gone something like "Hang on a minute. I don't want a damn GF. I'm doing fine on my own.", maybe with a few extra swearwords thrown in for good measure depending on how stressed he was feeling

Quistis pretended not to hear. She slapped one hand solidly on Seifer's right shoulder. Because he had Hyperion in his right hand, it took him a few seconds to reach across his body to her and a few seconds was all she needed.  His body was warm under her hand. 

"Transfer junction: Bahamut"

The wrench was too sudden for pain. Shiva's silvery laughter echoed in the space between her ears as Bahamut exited with a snarl. The impact snapped her  Quistis's eyes open as a wave of relief washed through her body, relaxing muscles that she hadn't even been aware she was tensing. Siren's song became an exultant hymn.

Seifer's pupils dilated into black holes. He dropped Hyperion with a clang.

Quistis almost felt the dragon GF leaving with an arrogant swish of his tail that sent her thoughts reeling. She forgot about the rebels and the mission in one wave of pure exhaustion and sagged forwards, for once in her life expecting somebody to catch her. The heels of her hands hit cold plasterboard instead of warm flesh.

Seifer ducked, grabbed Hyperion with his left hand and gave her a look of pure contempt. He turned from her without a word and stalked off to catch up with the rebels flicking the gunblade from left to right hand automatically as he went.

Quistis stared after him helplessly, feeling despite herself that she'd suddenly done something very wrong.

_It's the logical thing to do_, she told herself. _He'll get over it._

There was nowhere else to go, so Quistis followed, boots clicking on the lino. She caught up with the group just in time to see Seifer shoot the lock off a door. The rebels clustered inside. She was gratified to see that some, at least were moving with more confidence.  They'd fought, and lived.  Sometimes that was all that could be expected.

Quistis organised a rear guard, all jumpy in the aftermath of their last battle, and set them defending the entrance. Once she was sure that they were secure for at least a few minutes, she looked around for Seifer.

He was seated in the darkest corner, glowering malevolently at everybody. The room had been a store cupboard at some point and the only light came from a grimy window high up in one wall.  Quistis tried not to think about night time, tried not to think about the dark and the monsters and a steadily diminishing supply of spells.

"I'm sorry."

Seifer stood up, sliding his back up the wall and snarled "Fuck you."

Quistis held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture.  She'd expected some kind of reaction, but nothing quite as extreme. "Calm down. We don't need this right now."

He turned on her, one hand splayed out across the side of his head as if it hurt. _It probably does_, Quistis thought with a trace of humour. _He just had a forty foot dragon shoehorned in there after all._

 "Couldn't you just have _asked_?"

"I did." Quistis said. It didn't help that the relief of getting Bahamut out of her head was so strong that she had to fight to keep a grin off her face.

"I said no. Don't you think I've got enough shit in my head without this? I don't like GFs. You _know_ that. _Fuck_."

He made a halfhearted grab for her wrist. Quistis moved smoothly out of his way, automatically throwing up her strongest magical barriers in a reflex reaction. She rested her hands on her hips. "I need you to have a GF to back me up. People are dying."

"They asked for it."

"They're people. I feel sorry for them."

"Don't worry. It'll pass." Seifer said with black humour. "They make mistakes. They're civilians. They walk through doors without looking through them first and then don't know what monsters are like. We're both going to get killed just because they're too weak to defend themselves. Forget about getting paid, they're not even going to be grateful."

Quistis sent up a brief prayer to Hyne that no rebels were close enough to hear. "So what? They're civilians. But that doesn't mean they haven't got a right to live and just because they were planning to nuke Garden certainly doesn't mean we can just leave them to die. For Hyne's sake don't you think you've got enough on your conscience? How can you live with that?"

Seifer snarled "I _can _live with that. Because if we stay here all of us are going to kick it. See, that's what I like about you. At least you assume I have a conscience. But you'll bust a gut to prove them wrong."

"Think of it as a practical demonstration."

Seifer looked unimpressed. "You want to die for them?"

 "No. But I'll live. Are you too much of a coward to fight them?" She didn't think that her desperate stab at reverse psychology would work, and it didn't

"That's not going to work, Quistis. We'll never keep all the monsters off. I can't think straight. You always think you know best."  

"You can look after yourself. I want you to look after these people."

"There's no way to defend that many people."

Quistis's hand went to Save The Queen, hooked back on her belt. "Some of them have weapons. We can fight."

 "I haven't got a problem with the fighting. But when the Galbadians come, I'm off."

"You said you'd come back to Garden" Quistis pointed out.

"I forgot about that.." Seifer said. He seemed thoughtful. "I'm not promising anything."

"You've got to stop running sometime. And your track record of making amazingly important decisions is patchy to say the least. Especially ones involving world domination or feeding exes to sorceresses."

 "Why don't you trust me to do anything apart from look after myself?"

"Because I've only seen you look after yourself!"

"I resurrected you in Trabia! You always think that you're the only person who knows what to do."

"I am usually the-"

Seifer didn't let her finish. "Didn't you ever think that there's a reason I don't use GFs?"

"I would have done the same with any of the other SeeDs!"

"I'm not a SeeD."

"Pity.  It's obvious that you haven't got the discipline to handle a GF. I should have kept it." Quistis said witheringly.

Seifer turned away. "Fine. Let's get out of here. We're wasting time." He elbowed through the rebels, who had gathered in a huddled crowd by the door, perching on a pile of junked hospital beds like particularly bedraggled sparrows. "Come on, move your asses. Get going!"

At that moment, Quistis would have pitied anybody who got in Seifer's way. He slammed back the door and stalked out, boots thudding on the worn lino like he was trying to wake the dead. Quistis just hoped that he was angry enough not to get himself killed. She didn't doubt it.

By the time she'd chivvied the rebels together and arranged them into some semblance or order he was leaning against the wall outside, wearing an expression like a thundercloud and trying to look like he knew which way to go. Several Creeps lay in ragged and extremely dead piles at his feet.

Quistis almost sympathised. Not having anywhere to go and a whole load of people to look after made storming off pretty redundant. It was sheer luck that Seifer's favourite letting off steam activity just happened to be killing things.

She gestured at the Creeps. "You killed them?"

"One got away."

"I'm surprised."

"I've only got one pair of hands."

Somebody tugged at Quistis's sleeve. "Are they going to come through the walls again?"

Quistis rapped on the nearest wall with her knuckles. It sounded hollow. Thin plasterboard glowed faintly in the dim light.__

_Walls_….

Gears began to click into place in her finely tuned brain. "Which way's the weapons room?"

The rebel pointed wordlessly in a direction at forty five degrees to the corridor they were following.  Quistis resisted the temptation to ask if his mother knew he was out. He looked barely old enough to be drinking.

"Seifer, can you cut through the walls?"

He looked at her as if she was several screws sort of a revolver. "You what?"

"Can you cut. Through. The walls?" It was just crazy enough to work.

Seifer kicked at the plasterboard, which dented. He looked slightly interested, in an I'm-still-pissed-at-you-mind kind of way. "I might be able to."

"Try. Please?" 

Seifer shrugged, raised Hyperion and took a swing at the nearest wall. The dark blade of the weapon bit deeply. He yanked it out in a shower of pale plaster and tried again, using the weight of the weapon for leverage to hack away at the plywood struts linking the plasterboard shells together. Quistis waited impatiently. Her head was beginning to hurt, a slow, deep ache that niggled at the base of her skull.  "It's still taking too long."

"Well, I'm sorry." He sounded anything but.

"Oh, get out the way." Quistis snapped. The stress was beginning to get to her, presenting as a tendency to say whatever popped up in her head.

"I can do it."

Sawdust joined the plaster.  Quistis coughed and covered her mouth ostentatiously. "I'll make you a deal. I blast us through and you can kill whatever's on the other side. Deal?"

She took another shrug as assent and looped the whip back through her belt, glancing round to check whether or not everybody was following. They were.  

Seifer stepped back and scowled. He raised his free hand to scratch at his scar, frowning. Quistis wondered vaguely if it itched. __

"Everybody get back." She rapped out the command, not looking to see if anybody obeyed. It was beginning to get harder to draw magic as exhaustion set in. It was more difficult to concentrate. Ozone prickled in her nostrils as her hands moved in the old familiar gestures, channelling the stored magic from her brain to her fingers. It blasted into the corridor like a burning flower. Plasterboard, she discovered, ignited well. 

As the last fragments of wall crumbled to the floor she let go of the fading remnants of the spell with a gasp and gestured Seifer forwards. He climbed through, using Hyperion as a stick to balance.

"Anything there?" Quistis called, trying to keep any trace of worry from her voice.

"Nah. Just corridors and cobwebs."

"No monsters?"

"No" He sounded faintly puzzled, or at least slightly put out. "Maybe they're all snacking on the other lot."   

Quistis motioned to the rebels to start filing though the hole. "Maybe." She hoped so.

It was only luck that nobody had got themselves killed.

They were half way down the next corridor before their luck finally ran out.  It was ten minutes later. Quistis had just finished burning through yet another wall and was beginning to feel slightly like a human welding torch. Her SeeD uniform was speckled with tiny holes from falling ash, the taste of cheap plaster in her mouth. It felt like somebody had drained all of the energy out of her, which was about right. It was getting increasingly difficult to even form the intricate energy-channeling hand movements that she used to focus her mind. Her hands and feet were leaden weights. Even Seifer was beginning to shoot her worried looks out of the corner of his eye, which Quistis took to mean that she must look really rough. He always looked away quickly, to let her know that he was still pissed, but it was nice to know that he was bothered.

 "Just two to go." the young rebel said cheerfully. He probably meant it to be encouraging, but the thought of having to magic her way through two more walls made Quistis want to scream. It was taking her longer and longer to recover. Seifer was out of Firas, and she was exhausted.

She sighed. "Give me a few minutes to catch my breath."  and leant against the thin wall, next to her latest hole. The plasterboard was almost soft. It vibrated softly against her cheek. Irritated, she leant her head backwards, staring at the ceiling tiles. Tiny particles of polystyrene drifted down from the roof and Quistis brushed them from her spectacles.

A sudden thought stayed her hand in mid-brush. Careless fingerprints smeared her glasses, but she hardly noticed.

The ceiling was shaking. As were the walls. 

Something was coming. It sounded like a large something.

"Oh, _damn_. " Quistis turned her head, seeking out a dim shape in the gloom.

Seifer groaned from her left.  "Shit. Creeps again, six 'o clock."

"Snow Lion, dead on twelve noon."

"Okay, you got me." He sounded tired, though not as bad as she felt. "You win"

Quistis fought to focus. "No, really." Florescent spots floated in front of her eyes, the lion's shaggy mane just visible in the dark. The monster moved with none of the grace or beauty of a real lion. Lions slunk or stalked. The monster dragged itself along towards its target and wouldn't stop until if it was dead or it had caught whatever it was chasing. There were stories of Snow Lions tracking prey patiently for months.  

Quistis sighed wholeheartedly. It wasn't fair. She was tired. It'd be fine with half an hour's uninterrupted rest and something to eat to boost glucose and sodium levels, but she wasn't going to get anything like that.

She peeled herself off the wall awkwardly and faced the monster.

Seifer pushed through the crowd, shouting at the rebels to form a line and face the Creeps and then stopped as he took in the sheer bulk of the lion.

"Oh _shit_."

Quistis unhooked Save The Queen and whirled the whip round her head a few times to work up momentum. It didn't really work, because the corridor was way too narrow. The blow she'd meant to take out one of the monster's small and beady eyes missed completely. The Snow Lion snapped its head, rotating its stumpy neck, and hooked the tip of the lash neatly behind one canine. It growled and tore at the leather, throwing Quistis to one side of the corridor. The walls didn't feel so soft now. She obstinately refused to let go, wrenching desperately at the handle with stiff fingers.

Seifer darted in, slashing at the monster's head with Hyperion. Blue blood oozed from the shallow wounds and then stopped. The Lion growled and snapped its head again. It was monstrously ugly, nothing lionish about it. It lowered its head and roared. The rebels had wisely decided to close with the Creeps, and the noise was indescribable.

The roaring turned to a low growl as a blue glow surrounded the creature.

Quistis felt magic in the air and cast Shell on herself automatically. The effort turned her limbs to stone and made holding onto Save The Queen even harder.

The monster's head swung from her to Seifer. It would cast in seconds. She wouldn't be able to junction Shiva in time, they were too tired, her and the GF both……

Quistis screamed at him "Seifer!You've got a GF now! Use the damn thing!"

Seifer met her eyes and nodded. He looked very determined. Quistis wrenched at the whip, which-miracles of miracles-came free. She scrambled backwards into the pack of rebels, retreating to give Seifer room to summon, and shouting "Duck!"

"Where?"

"Down, idiots!" Quistis snapped. She suited her actions to her words, reached for the collar of the nearest recruit and dragged him down too. It was the teenager who had pointed the way to the weapons room earlier, looking rather the worse for wear in blood-streaked clothes. He looked vaguely gratified to be wrestled to the floor by an attractive blond woman.

The rest of the group lowered themselves to the floor at various speeds. Someone asked irritably, "What is it?"

Seifer junctioned.

To Quistis' surprise Bahamut came easily to his hands in the space of two slow heartbeats. She pressed her body to the wall to give him space, one arm round the smaller woman's shoulder as the floor beneath their feet glistened and disappeared.

A couple of the rebels glanced down with frightened expressions. Quistis didn't have the breath to reassure them.

The corridor blanked out into black night, jewelled with faint constellations of stars.

There was a scream as someone fell over someone else in the dark, and a snarl from up ahead before the lights came back on. The floor glowed with pale hazy clouds. A moon appeared somewhere over Quistis' left shoulder, and she felt her pupils contract painfully in its light.

The rebels turned as one person and stared at it disbelievingly

Thankfully the Snow Lion seemed to be just as hypnotised by the sudden appearance of the indoor sky. It shook its shaggy head from side to side and growled gently.

A dark shadow manifested under the cloud, at ankle height.

There was a susurrus of whispered comments as everyone else began to pick up on it. The few people still standing lifted their feet carefully with a caution that almost made her laugh.

A bluish grey fin broke the surface of the rippling cloud and then slid under with a rolling motion like a shark. The clouds thickened and rose, higher and higher, to knee level and then waist height, multiplying until they shrouded the entire hallway in a thick and impenetrable mist.

A growling rumble reverberated through the walls. The moon was obscured, glowing hazily through the veiling cloud. Quistis reached out and felt cold pale droplets condense on her skin. She looked up just as the clouds faded and came to a rest in the ceiling, where they obscured the tiles. A pale glow illuminated the cloud but the moon had vanished. She could see Seifer's tall silhouette quite clearly.

A dragon barrelled down from the clouds raising a wind that whipped at peoples' clothing. It spread its wings with a loud crack, exposing claret-dark linings, and threw back its spiked and scaled head, glaring down with eyes as green as its summoner. Its body was like a crocodile's, thick and powerful and armoured all over with razored scales.

It roared, coughed harshly, and gouted grey smoke from its nostrils.

The effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that, owing to the limitations of the enclosed space, it was about three feet long

Quistis raised her voice, knowing what was coming. "When I say close your eyes, everybody… "

"What?"

"Now!"

The dragon roared and vomited blue flame. Quistis snapped her own eyes closed just in time. The glare left glowing afterimages burned on the inside of her retinas, floor cool against her hands.  Pressed against her side the boy's shivering body was faintly and comfortingly warm.

There was a sudden stink of charred flesh, carried on a strong wind that whipped at her clothes and left behind the smell of fresh midnight air.

She opened her eyes. The dragon had vanished

The Snow Lion stood as if poleaxed. It blinked, roared, and then very slowly fell over.

There was a mutual gasp.

Quistis crawled to hands and knees, shaking dust from her hair "Is everybody okay?"

There was a chorus of replies on the theme of 'yes.'

She stood up, shakily, and made her way to Seifer, who was standing in the middle of the hall stock still and wearing a stunned expression. She gave his shoulder a gentle shake.

"Okay?"

Seifer seemed to rouse. His eyes flickered and then focused. "That wasn't bad."

"I'm pleased."

"No. It felt too good. That's not right. It shouldn't….." He paused and seemed to take in his surroundings for the first time. "Shit,  I'm not making sense."

Quistis didn't let go. "You can make sense later. Just keep using it."

The speed surprised her slightly. From the looks of it Seifer and Bahamut were highly compatible, which made sense. One was an arrogant touchy bastard with a deep contempt for most humans, and the other was a dragon.

Seifer shook his head silently, ignoring a rebel who walked up to join them. "Excuse me………someone's not well."

There was a man crouched on the floor at the side of the corridor. Quistis and Seifer exchanged a look.

Seifer took up point, leaving the rest of the rebels to their own devices for a minute. Quistis knelt down beside the man, listening to the deep growl and roar as Seifer cast Bahamut from further up the halls.

She asked "Are you all right?" and realised in that split second that he wasn't and that there probably wasn't anything she could do to make him better.

He didn't even look at her. His arms were clenched round his belly, very still but his feet and hands moved in tiny jerky movements, constantly. Pain.

Quistis touched his shoulder once and dark startled eyes glanced up from a face as white as paper.  His skin was pale and sweaty and the freckles on it stood out sharply like spilled pepper.

"I'm…" he choked.

One hand rose and gripped Quistis' with a force that ground the bones of her knuckles together. There was a hot heavy metallic smell to the air. His clothes were soaked with blood. A trickle ran down from the corner of his mouth to pool and clot on the cloth of his shirt. He coughed, and looked up at Quistis with pleading eyes.

_Shit._

Quistis tried to fake a don't-worry-you're-going-to-be-all-right smile, and failed miserably.

A Curaga or Full-Life could close up the wounds but there was no spell or item in the world to replace the man's blood or lessen infection.

With a full complement of medical support magic and intensive medical within an hour, there might be some hope. But Quistis' Curagas were running low and she knew Seifer wasn't much better off. And ironically, since they were in one hell of a large hospital, there was next to no chance of prompt medical treatment in time.

There was no need to say what they both knew, but she called Seifer over anyway, just in case he'd picked up something she didn't know about.

"Can you…?"

Seifer glanced over her shoulder and shook his head. An unspoken comment passed between them that a watcher could only have guessed at

_He's finished._

_I know._

The Creeps advanced inexorably, an undulating carpet of black shadowlike bodies whispering over the floor towards them. Quistis glanced round behind her. The corridor was a tangle of fighting bodies, rebels and monsters grappling. It was hard to say who was coming out on top.

"Get them out of here."

"You're?" His tone was matter of fact, slightly guarded as if there was an unpleasant job that needed to be carried out that he wasn't particularly keen to do. Quistis wasn't keen to have him do it, come to that. The rebels were wary enough of Seifer as it was, plus his version of mercy was more along the lines of "I'm sorry, he isn't going to make it" sound of loud gunshot that she liked.

 "Yes. I need your knife." She held out her free hand without looking as Seifer flipped his dagger into the air, caught it by the flat of its blade and offered it to Quistis, hilt-first. She wiped strands of sweaty blood-streaked hair from her face with hands that trembled.

"Take them back. I'll be along in a minute."

Seifer nodded curtly, bent towards Quistis and kissed her quickly. There was the click of teeth meeting. A gesture of trust, maybe, and a statement. We're alive.

He turned, whispered a few words under his breath and shot off a ball of fire in the general direction of the Creeps.  Most made way for the inferno, slithering agilely out of its path with a whisper like dry leaves. Those that didn't curled to ash with a faint high pitched scream.

The remaining monsters snarled as their companions flaked into billows of charred oily-smelling dust, but they seemed disinclined to come closer.

"That should hold them long enough."

He clapped Quistis on the shoulder awkwardly and then left, jogging up along the corridor and breaking into a run as he rounded the corner.

She glanced behind her again, listening as the noise of shouts and gunfire faded for a second and then resumed, louder than before.

The man coughed dryly, eyes downcast like a sick dog. Quistis moved her hand behind her back and placed the knife quietly on the floor at her feet. She kept one eye on the Creeps and gently prised the young man's left hand from around his wound. It wasn't difficult, because he was weak with pain and shock, which allowed Quistis to keep tight hold of his right palm and hoping that the human contact would grant him at least some measure of relief.

Close up, it looked worse. Something, Creeps maybe or another monster, earlier on, had slashed a neat line across his abdomen, slicing through muscle and flesh with surgical precision in a long smooth-edged cut that reached from one side of his belly to the other. From the look of it, the slash had severed several veins.

She couldn't begin to guess how long he might have been sitting on the floor, lost in the fighting, but his skin had the pallor of shock, his breathing shallow and fast as his body tried vainly to compensate for the several litres of blood that decorated the floor for a foot around. Quistis had read once that the human body contained eight pints of blood. It looked like more.

The Creeps stayed back, torn between the scent of fresh blood and the memory of Bahamut's blue fire.

Quistis felt the weight of responsibility descend slowly onto her shoulders with the force of several tons of lead.

The man gave a long, shuddering sigh and slumped down to the floor, letting out a small groan as his back slid down the floor. He turned his head towards her and said nothing.

The words of her first Balamb instructor came back to her in a rush. _Sometimes it's the only thing you can do.. _

_I have to give him the choice…If it was me.._

She squeezed his hand.

"You're badly hurt. I can't heal you. Do you want me to try and help you to safety?"

She didn't add that the monsters would get both of them if she tried. If she'd thought that the man could stand lifting, she'd have got Seifer to help.

Silence.

Quistis took this rather pragmatically as assent, slid one arm behind his back, and lifted.

The man grunted and then cried out in a voice that sounded inhuman and strangely guttural.

_This isn't going to work._

"Do you want me to…I can help you."

His mouth moved without sound, Quistis leant over him, her bare knees skidding in slick liquid.

_"Please"_

Quistis blinked once, behind cracked spectacles. She nodded and let go of the man's hand, which moved automatically to his belly.

_Right.___

Her surroundings seemed suddenly very clear as Quistis knelt over the injured man. She pressed one hand to his neck, feeling the faint pulse jump and skip irregularly.

_Dammit. I'm sorry.  _

The apology turned into a snatch of familiar litany in her mind as she whispered a few words of magic over the man's body in a voice hoarse from shouting and slid her hand up his neck to touch his forehead, gently. The skin was cool and clammy and the bloody pads of her fingertips left small round stigmata on the pale surface, as if in benediction

Quistis closed her eyes for a fleeting second and felt the magic leave her body in a rush. She opened them just in time to see the man's face slacken from the sleep spell. His own eyelids fluttered closed.

Quistis reached behind her and picked up the knife. She placed one hand on the man's shoulder to steady his heavy slumped body and slid the knife gently in between his ribs, twisting until she felt the edge grate against bone.

The man's eyes opened, unseeing. He gasped and convulsed, coughing as a mixture of blood and saliva drooled down his chest.  The inside of his mouth gaped red and wet with blood.

Quistis held him until he stopped struggling and relaxed into death. She passed one hand over his face to close his eyes and stood, leaving the cooling body to the depredations of the monsters.

_No. _

She reached for the whip chained to her belt and unhooked it, flicking the tip from wall to wall with a snap of her wrist. The Creeps drew back and she let the whip curl warningly over their heads. They hesitated, but came on, anyway, attracted by the blood and the smell of death that hung in the confined space like a pall.

One metre..closing.

The nearest Creep tensed for an attack

"Firaga."

Quistis cast.

The corridor in front of her blanked out in a charnel roar of greasy smoke and flame. She thought she saw the silhouette of the man's corpse for a second in the blaze before it crumbled to ash, as well as all the Creeps within six metres, part of the wall and most of the ceiling.

Quistis didn't stay long enough to let the surviving Creeps catch up with her. Mouth a flat line and heart heavy, she raced round the corner to find Seifer.

Nobody was to be seen. On the plus side, of course, no bodies were to be seen. Quistis told herself that this was a good thing. The Creeps were hot on her heels, whispering up the corridor behind her.  She ran, looking frantically round for the group and thinking that she wouldn't have put it past Seifer to leave, but he definitely wouldn't have taken the group with him.

There was a faint noise from farther up the corridor and she followed it cautiously, feet aching. Sweat stung her eyes, damp on her face.

The noise repeated.

Quistis cocked her head, trying to place it. It sounded metallic. She dropped her pace to a walk, slow enough to stop if necessary yet still fast enough to outpace the Creeps. She hoped.

A thin scream came from behind her. Quistis whirled. The Creeps rustled to a halt and then single-mindedly stopped, turned through one hundred and eighty degrees and slithered back the way they'd come.

Quistis didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

_They can't be that way. I've just come from that way._

The metallic noise repeated again.  

_Okay, I'll just check that out and then I'll go and see what the Creeps are up to. Add on the fact that I don't know where the hell we're supposed to be heading for…...and ye gods could I have made any more of a mess of this mission?_

She crept up to the next corner, treading silently on the balls of her feet. Placing both of her palms flat against the wall, she edged closer, trying to be quiet and desperately trying to think of any monsters that made metallic noises. When she reached the corner she leant back against the plasterboard, her SeeD uniform more grey than black by now, nerves frazzled. Magic jumped in her veins, pulsing with every breath, every tiny movement, leaving her exhausted. 

She exhaled softly and leant round the corner, trying to keep her movements smooth and controlled.  Monsters were attracted to jerky, panicked motion.

She needn't have worried. It wasn't a monster. It was Seifer.

He looked up at the same time as she did, eyes widening at the sudden movement. Quistis automatically stepped within his guard so that he couldn't draw on her.

Seifer tensed, and then relaxed, exhaling in a long breath. He deserted his post and came raiding, wrapping both arms around her and leaning Hyperion up against the wall carefully.

Quistis didn't mind, welcoming the human contact. It was great not needing people, but there were some times when it just didn't work. He seemed to have forgiven her for the moment, and she was grateful, though not grateful enough to say so.

After all, she'd just done the logical thing.

Seifer held her in a fierce hug, a pistol still in his right hand. It felt cold against her spine, pointing down at the floor. At least she hoped it was pointing at the floor. She rested her head on his shoulder for a second, allowing herself the brief luxury of human contact before she stepped back, straightening her uniform. "Everyone else is okay?"

"They're fine. Freaked, but fine." Seifer picked up Hyperion, hands running automatically over the weapon just to make sure that it hadn't changed in the five seconds he hadn't been holding it "One of them tried the 'if you don't help us, you're just as bad as we are' trick when I threatened to leave them all to die."

Quistis surmised that they'd got a raised eyebrow and a "what the fuck is wrong with you?" She smiled, and then frowned at his next question.

"Yours?"

Quistis shrugged and looked away miserably.

Seifer tried to catch her eye and failed. He drew back and ran one finger down her face. It came away red.  Quistis raised her free hand to her cheek. There was a line of painful wetness that ran from the side of her nose across nearly to the point of her jaw, under her ear. It didn't feel deep. A flesh wound, nothing more.

"You better get that stitched up. You're going to have a scar."

"I'll survive." Quistis said

"You're a survivor." Seifer sounded approving. He was all for survival of the fittest.

She looked up, gave him a wry grin, stared to say something-and then was cut off by another loud scream.

Seifer looked round. "Who's _that_?"

"None of yours?"

"They're not mine. I thought it was that guy you were with."

"Negative.  It must be…"

"The other group." Seifer finished off her sentence.

"Do you know where we are?" Quistis asked "We should send help."

"Like who? Them? They can't even help themselves."

"Location, soldier."

"Weapons room's about one hundred metres due north." He jerked his head in the opposite direction to which Quistis had entered. "_We're_ almost there, and _they_ knew what they were getting into.. Tough shit."

"You know, you might need some help one day." Quistis pushed past him and started walking, gathering rebels as she went.

Seifer raised one eyebrow cynically. "From them? Yeah right." 

"We'll regroup, get better weapons, and then go off after them."

"You and whose army? Oh no. I know that look. I'm not saving that bunch of fuckwits from themselves."

 "They don't sound far away. I can't trust anyone else and I need to get these people to safety."

"You trust me? Haven't heard that one before."

Quistis rolled her eyes and gave him a second Look.

"So I do go. What's in it for me?" A calculating expression came over his face. "Oh.  Yeah. I get it."

Quistis internally cursed herself. Despite what people said, Seifer wasn't stupid, though he often wasn't as clever as he thought he was. She reached up, pulled him closer and hissed "They called the Galbadians. And if not, the power will have knocked out the radio. Xu said they'd send Balamb SeeDs. Either way, that's bad for you, but if I say you helped the CLA that might work. But you have to promise that you'll help the other party and that you won't leave."

"Yeah, but-"

 "_Promise_." 

"Okay. I'll find you when I'm finished."

"Take care."

"Same. "

"Come back."

He tipped his head to the side. "Got to go."

"I'm not stopping you."

He grinned suddenly, a real smile that made him look several years younger and made Quistis want to push him up against the wall and do unspeakable things to him. "You're not. But I'll come back."

"I'll be waiting. Somewhere between here and the square, anyway."

Seifer grinned again, slung Hyperion over his shoulder, spun and jogged back up the corridor in the direction of the hair raising scream. Quistis watched him go, thinking that it was beginning to become a habit. Despite it all, she felt better. Either he'd come back, or he wouldn't, but for once she was fine with letting him go, which was the important thing.

Simple.

She turned and began to shepherd the group towards the weapons room, tracking through dusty hospital rooms strewn with instruments as the tracks on the floor swelled in size. Glancing at the floor, she thought that she could make out Seifer's bootprints from his earlier excursion into the hospital Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but it was a nice idea.

Quistis lost the footprints as she followed her group into the room. She took little notice of the weapons strewn about, calling for a couple of the men to help her close the door behind them. Job finished, she collapsed onto a crate, and then looked wearily up as the nearest rebel sidled up. He coughed awkwardly and said "Where's he going?

"He said that he'd go and help the others and now he's left. And now you know as much as I do." Privately she thought that there was as much chance of Seifer coming back as Martine preaching harmony, forgiveness and joy to all men, but she was having a hard time admitting that herself.

_I can't blame him if he doesn't. Or I can blame him, but at least I understand_.

A tiny part of her mind whispered ….._he__ said he'd come back_.

The tired, adult and cynical part asked _Would you?_

_But he said…_

_Shut up._  Quistis buried the starfish of Hope under the cold seas of Logic. Dimly she was aware that the brief respite from fighting was giving the rebels more time to think, and that was a bad thing. 

Somebody else joined the conversation. "I suspect he's alive and well. Which is more than can be said for those around him."

Quistis sighed. "You should hope so. It's your people he's rescuing."

 "That does not fill me with confidence. He's a killer."

"So am I. So are you. These people have killed monsters, what does that make them? You helped wreck my home!"

"I didn't. I mean, we did, but I never pressed any button. I didn't plant it!"

You supported them! Hyne, least he's more honest about it.   I mean that if he thinks a person ought to die, that person is dead. He will always, always fight. He's very uncomplicated like that. But he doesn't lie and he doesn't pretend to be something he's not. Well, he doesn't lie about important things, even if he can't tell the truth about stuff he doesn't remember."

"What?" The man she addressed looked puzzled, as well he might.

"It doesn't matter. We can defend this room. Let's stay here for a bit, give ourselves a chance to rest and recover."

Seifer ran down corridors, half his mind trying to map the intricate network of passageways and the other half thinking about Quistis.  She was hurt. On Quistis it looked good, as if the next season all the girls would be rushing into the shops and demanding facial scars, but she was still injured and he'd rarely seen Quistis hurt before At the end of the day, she was just too good. He didn't have much faith in the rest of the group to protect her, either. Like he'd said, they couldn't even help themselves. Most of the CLA made the Forest Owls look like Special Forces in comparison, and the ones that really mattered had gone off to get themselves killed.

_I'll come back for you. Nobody else._

Seifer couldn't help thinking that it wouldn't matter if one or two of the main CLA agitators didn't get saved. No leaders, no group, no problem.

Bahamut growled in his head, distracting Seifer from his increasingly morbid thoughts. It made him shiver. The sense of something alien in his head, something different and strong and reptilian, was just weird. He didn't know what the GF looked like, because junctioning just felt like drawing magic apart from when you opened your eyes your opponent was just that vital bit weaker, but he knew it was some kind of dragon from what Quistis had said earlier. There was a blurred impression of a moon over grey clouds, but that was nonsense. Clouds didn't rip your opponent apart and clouds certainly didn't KO a fully grown Snow Lion. He didn't remember the process, but the result was hard to argue with.

_Memories.__ They'll be the first to go. _

_Shut up, _he told himself firmly.

Seifer wrenched his mind back to the matter in hand, telling himself firmly to pay attention. It was difficult to track by ear. The screams had died away, but on his mental map their source couldn't be far.

There. A louder cry. Swearing, Seifer picked up the pace, thinking grimly that it would be a miracle if there would be anything left for him to save. Homing in on the screams, he raced round the nearest corner, fighting for balance as his boots slipped on the lino, saw the party in front of him and skidded to a halt.

"Seifer?!"

I passed my exams and finished the game! Wow. Anyway, am tired.

Reviews:

Auronzlah: Relationships ARE sex, complaining and fighting, d00d. More plot in this one, and a hell of a battle in the next chapter (coming soon) I think you'll like it.

Breaker-one: Quistis is not and will never be a damsel in distress.

Ghost 140: Seifer with hero quality? More like antihero power. 'We're heroes of a sort, the ones who crawl off cursing after the curtain falls'.-Joanne Harris: The Ugly Sister.

Jindy Wahr: I'll check for the punctuation. Ta.

Nynaeve77: Did Xu hear Quistis say Seifer's name? Find out in the action-packed next chapter, hehehe.

Sickness In Salvation: Thanks! But if I don't use cliffhangers, how the hell can I keep people reading? SDTC will thankfully not end with one though.

Sulou: thanks for waiting! cheers.

Superviolinist: I hadn't even started the game when I finished GB. I've finished it now. Got it just before I started SDTC, as well as a strategy guide which has been really amazingly helpful.

Wonderful Failure: Tori Amos indeed rocks. Try Thea Gilmore, too.

kate

Quote from sister's beta-ing.

_'Note: when I was looking at how everyone dresses on the AMVS, I realized that every fic author who mentions Seifer's stupid vest thing that he wears underneath his Big Gay Coat™  says that it has no sleeves. This puzzled me for a bit , seeing as it's not like he ever takes the coat off and most of the characters seem to wear the same thing all the time, to save the animators the pain of making two versions of each character. _

_Then I realized. _

_It's because otherwise you've got an antihero who wears a cardigan.'_


	20. Chapter Twenty: Curtain

Chapter Twenty: Curtain

I dressed myself up in tinplate armour

But you got me in the end.

Yeah, you really sunk your teeth in, spitting all that sweet pretence.

But I'm pretty good at curtain calls,

In fact I've been practising my swansong

And you keep trying to tell me that you'd been trying to tell me all along.

Thea Gilmore: The Things We Never Said.

 "We're heroes of a sort, the ones who crawl off cursing after the curtain falls."- Joanne Harris: The Ugly Sister.

_"Seifer!?"___

The former Sorceress' Knight gave the world's wildest double take as he slid to a stop.

A group of people blocked the corridor in front of him, just as he'd been expecting from the noise. He hadn't been expecting to recognise most of them. From their regimented discipline and neat uniforms, it was a fair bet they weren't the rebels he'd been searching for.  

Selphie. Irvine. A few other SeeDs whose names and faces he vaguely recalled. A few more that he didn't.

It didn't really surprise him, after the first second. By the time he'd worked out just how much shit he was in, it was already too late. There was a click as the barrel of a gun was instantly aimed at his chest.

"Don't move." Selphie snapped.

Seifer took one look at her face and realised that his luck hadn't so much run out as sprinted.

There was a scream from their left, very close.  Seifer turned his head, trying to place the voice. It had to be the rebels, or what was left of them. He looked round at bare stained walls, trying to work out just how bothered he should be and then decided that there were more important things for him to worry about. Like if he could make it round the nearest corner without being perforated.

The answer, he decided, was no.

A brief burst of gunfire carried down the corridor, followed by a second bloodcurdling scream. Seifer tried misdirection, hoping to divert attention away from himself. "There's people _dying_ there."

"That's strange, what with you being over here and all." Selphie replied.  She had dropped into a fighting pose, bouncing slightly up and down on the balls of her feet with her nunchucks at the ready. They looked absurdly large in her small hands, the warrior equivalent of mittens with strings attached to make sure you didn't lose them. Seifer looked at her and weighed up the chances of him being able to fight his way out.

_I reckon I could beat Selphie. Maybe __Irvine__ as well, if I'm really lucky._

_It's just a pity about the other fifteen or so heavily armed SeeDs._

Irvine's face was barely visible under the brim of his hat, his rifle raised to his shoulder. "Drop your weapon.  Or have it shot out of your hand."

The cowboy's voice was so edged Seifer could have used it to shave with.  Cursing, he let Hyperion drop to the ground. Somehow the time for fighting back had passed without him even being aware of it.

"Kick it away."

Seifer took a second's fierce pleasure in booting the gunblade behind him, away from the SeeDs. Let _them _get it.

Selphie's face took on an abstracted expression, her knuckles turning white on the grips of Strange Vision.  "He's junctioned."

"Doesn't matter. I can get him before he summ…." Irvine's brain caught up with his mouth. "Where the hell did you get a GF from, Almasy? Which one?"

"Bahamut." Selphie and Seifer said at the same time. Seifer rolled his eyes. An answering growl reverberated round the inside of his skull.

Irvine's finger twitched on the trigger of his Exeter. "I thought you gave….."

"Quistis.." Selphie agreed, flicking one finger.

The group of SeeDs split cleanly into two halves, faces grim and, Seifer thought, blandly forgettable. The left group raced off in the direction of the earlier shots with commendable military discipline and the speed of racing greyhounds.  The remainder moved down the corridor towards Seifer, circling him warily. Their boots brushed quietly on the scuffed lino floor with ghostlike whispers. Seifer read the signs of combat on their uniforms and near-identical expressions of wary anger on their faces. Selphie's last comment hung in the air.

The gunfire from around the corner resumed, then ceased.

"What did you do with her, Almasy?" Irvine asked.

Seifer, for once, thought very carefully before he opened his mouth. "She's fine. At least she was when I left her. Of course, that might have changed since I last saw her, thanks to you bunch of fuckwits." The swearing was automatic, but he'd be dammed if he was going to watch his language.  Come to think of it, he probably was anyway, so no great loss.

Selphie frowned. "Where?"

Seifer pointed, and then resorted to jerking his head as the ring of cadets surrounding him stepped back a pace and brought their weapons to bear. He didn't bother to look down at his battered jeans and T shirt, knowing that they bore the telltale red dots of several high-powered standard issue rifles. They called it sniper's flu on the training ground.

Selphie relaxed a bit, her automatic antagonism fading slightly. "Rinoa's taken a troop round that way."

"You want to know where Quistis is? She's holed up in a storeroom with thirty-odd civilians."

"Armed?"

Seifer shrugged. "Some. She's got Shiva and Siren"

"Where, exactly?" Irvine asked. He touched a mike on his collar and spoke softly into it, glancing across at Seifer.

"Left, left, fourth right, just follow the screaming. You can't miss it."

Selphie twirled her nunchakus theatrically and tucked them under her arm. "I don't suppose for one minute you're going to surprise me by explaining what you're doing here?"

"It'd take too long." Seifer said. He shook his head, the scar itching fierily between his eyes, and waited for a bullet. Squinting as a cadet's laser sight wandered, tracing gently across his left pupil, he watched the second party of SeeDs begin to reappear from the T-junction further down the corridor. A few helped stumbling people along, others carried ominously still forms between them. It looked like the screams had been the other rebels, after all. Seifer found it hard to be sympathetic.

A cadet appeared abruptly at Selphie's elbow, holding Hyperion gingerly.  He handed it to Selphie, who ran her fingers over the weapon without taking her eyes off Seifer, her nunchakus tucked in her armpit. Finally she frowned and passed the gunblade back to Irvine, muscles standing out on her thin arms from its weight.

The Galbadian levelled his own gun at Seifer and kept it there, cocking the trigger with his right, the buff of the rifle jammed against his body to keep it level. He examined Hyperion with his gloved left hand while the ex-knight fumed. "It's been fired."

"I'm in a fucking hospital full of monsters, what the hell did you think I was doing?"

Seifer snapped.

Selphie cut him off. "Anything else?"

Seifer shook his head. He didn't think one razorblade counted, and all of his other weapons had been handed out to the rebel forces. Besides, the whole point of his emergency razor was that you didn't tell people about it.

Irvine lowered the Exeter. "Scan."

The cadets surrounding Seifer stepped back a tiny bit as a red haze burst from Irvine's fingertips. Seifer shivered as the spell washed over him, feeling far too much like sorceress-magic to his taste. He looked challengingly at Irvine.

"He's telling the truth. And he does have Bahamut." Irvine raised one black-gloved hand to his collar and spoke again into his radio mike.

"I'll get it." Selphie smiled faintly, folding her ludicrously garish nunchucks in half. She shouldered the cadets aside and advanced upon Seifer. Stood right next to him, she reached to his shoulder, but there was very little left of the manically cheery girl Seifer had glimpsed from the depths of Quistis's wardrobe. Confident and calm, junctioned to the teeth, Selphie was all SeeD.

She reached out cool fingers and pressed them to his wrist. "Transfer Junction: Bahamut."

"Hey, hang on a mii.." Seifer's futile protest was cut off as Selphie's magic bored its way into his mind.

When Quistis had given him the GF, it had felt strange, but powerful and he hadn't hated it as much as he thought he would. In fact he hadn't hated it at all and that had been the part he'd liked least.

Bahamut's abrupt removal felt like Selphie had just reached into his skull, ripped out a piece of his brain and stirred the rest round with a stick for good measure. Seifer raised both hands up to push her away, unsheathing long blueish claws with a throaty growl, twisted and fell back against the wall and into swirling storm-grey clouds, the moon full and bright above his head. He surfaced with a gasp, tried to balance himself with his tail and then realised with a shock that he didn't have one. Ducking his head, he raised both hands to his temples as a headache threatened to cleave his skull in half, and then lowered them as he fought to focus. Figures solidified slowly around him, the nearest a bright blob of sunburst yellow.

To his surprise, Selphie looked almost as sick. She was bent over not far away with her hands resting on her knees and a couple of cadets fussing round her.  Irvine dropped Hyperion, slung Exeter over his shoulder and went to her, one arm hooking round her narrow shoulders to pull her up.

"Sefie..what happened, sunshine?"

Selphie gasped as if she'd just run a race. "That is one ….bastard of a GF."

Irvine's eyes were hard. "They should get on fine, then."

Seifer slouched back against the wall and wished he had a cigarette. The ring of cadets watched him nervously with a caution that he found vaguely gratifying. Their laser sights burned on his chest, a figment of his imagination but none the more irritating for that.

His head ached.

Seifer looked curiously over at the other SeeDs. Irvine was slouched against the wall a few metres down the corridor, talking to Selphie in a soft voice. The pair's body language made it blatantly obvious that they were a couple and Seifer wondered for a second how he might use this new knowledge to his advantage.

_Hmmm. Wonder if they'd be sympathetic to me and Quistis…ah, hell, no chance.__ Academic, anyway, after this. _

A few minutes later Selphie pushed Irvine away and straightened up. Feet apart and hands on her hips, she rubbed one hand across her forehead. "What have you been doing all this time?"

 "Don't think it paid every well" Irvine muttered.

Seifer looked down at himself, critically. Since leaving Garden he hadn't paid much attention to his clothes, a side effect of not having a free laundry service, but he was prepared to bet that he looked like shit compared to the neat and tidy SeeDs. He scraped a long clot of drying Creep blood of his T shirt with one hand and transferred it to the wall.

Selphie gave him a look of utter distaste. Irvine moved closer to her, an alert and easy don't-even-think-about-it physical presence behind her small frame. His tan duster swirled dramatically behind him. Seifer suddenly missed his own coat, two years rotted in a dump somewhere in Trabia. He gave the Galbadian's Irvine's collar button a nod. "Can you check on Quistis?"

Irvine's hand reached up automatically to touch the miniature microphone. "Why?"

"Because." Seifer said, unhelpfully.

"Do I even want to know?"

 "Just do it."

One of the nearer cadets, less scared or more foolhardy than the rest, nudged him in the ribs with a rifle barrel. "Don't talk to them like that! Don't you know who they are?"

Selphie winced, a tiny movement that she almost immediately stifled. Irvine's expression was unreadable under the wide brim of his worn leather hat.

Seifer smiled nastily, doubting very much that the cadet knew who _he_ was. "I'll talk to them however I fucking want."

"Shut up. We'll have you court-martialled." the SeeD threatened.

 "On top of the death sentence? Be my guest."

Selphie gave the SeeD a sharp look, and snapped "Ignore him. He's just trying to wind you up." She turned to Seifer. "Why?"

"Look, you were going to do it anyway. Just check."

Selphie glared for a second, and finally nodded to the cowboy. Irvine gave her a quizzical look but touched the button on his coat anyway, speaking in a soft South Plains drawl. "Squad B. Come in, I repeat, Squad B. Situation report. Sit-Rep needed."

The reply was inaudible. Irvine flicked his coat collar up, fiddling with the button and brushing back strands of wavy dark red hair. Selphie clasped her hands behind her back and watched him.

Seifer fidgeted while trying to keep very, very still. He would have chewed his nails if he hadn't thought he'd get shot if he so much as twitched a finger.

The SeeDs held their positions until Irvine looked up, his body language subtly relaxing and said "She's fine. Rinoa's squad are with them now." He looked round at the corridors, sharpshooter eyes taking in the bullet holes and trails of blood where the second team had exited. "Do you know if there's anybody else in here?"

Seifer shook his head, feeling laser sights waver and re-aim. "No. Don't think so. Just the two groups."

Irvine looked satisfied. "That's what Rinoa said. They're leaving now, and we're done here."

_Thank fuck. _

Seifer told himself firmly that he'd known all along that Quistis would be fine, part of him relieved and another part refusing to believe the news was true and wanting desperately to see her. One mental image haunted him, the way she'd looked when he left her, face pale and blue eyes tired, in the company of people who weren't quite enemies. He tried unsuccessfully to replace it with a picture of one of their several happier moments, and then gave up the fight. After all, his subconscious had always been a bitch.

He tried to be grateful that Quistis had survived. It looked like that the only way out for him was through, but Trepe was fine, at least. Seifer didn't hold much hope for himself. After all, the last gift he'd got from Squall had been a permanent facial scar and the news that his side had just come second.

The thought was incredibly depressing.  In some ways it felt like his escape from time compression, likes nothing else mattered apart from him and his black mood.  The adrenaline of the fight had long since guttered out. Seifer leant back against the wall and looked round.

Irvine and Selphie had walked off to one side. By the looks of it they were having a heated discussion, and both were ignoring the ex-knight with such conviction that Seifer reasoned that the argument must be about him. Irvine had one hand on Selphie's shoulder, talking down to her with energetically waving hand gestures. The small Trabian girl had raised herself up on the toes of her boots to hiss into Irvine's face, hands on her hips.  Watching them, Seifer realised two things.

One, that Quistis probably wasn't going to wait for him. Quistis followed the rules, and technically she hadn't broken any. In Trabia she hadn't told Squall that Seifer was still alive because she'd genuinely thought he'd been dead, a fact that had helped his cover story no end. In Hana everybody else had considered him deceased, so there were no rules to break. So, _technically_ she was clean. Morally was another matter, but morals had always confused Seifer slightly so he shelved that issue for later consideration.

Two, that he would be going back one way or another. Somehow, Seifer had never imagined himself not returning. It would have been much better on his own terms:  he'd always imagined himself sauntering into Balamb's reception desk of his own accord. But if you had to face the music, why not try to dance?

Seifer pressed against the walls with his shoulderblades, levering himself up. He gave the nearest cadet a blinding smile. "Leave it. I'll come." He spread out his hands to either side. "SeeD cadet, Almasy, Seifer, 24602."

After all, he'd always wanted to be famous.

Irvine looked round and shrugged, shoulders rising and falling under his tattered duster. Selphie folded her arms across her chest and grinned triumphantly.

After that, it was easy.

Despite himself Seifer was impressed by the speed and efficiency with which the SeeDs travelled to the exits. He was even more impressed by the red-hulled leviathan of a craft that was parked firmly on the roof of the building, though he tried not to show it. The plane looked like a giant Ruby Dragon, huge and scarred with anti-aircraft guns in place of fiery breath. Every polished rib and curved porthole was bolted together with a finely honed sense of aesthetics which, Seifer thought, would make it hell to fly. He'd never been interested in mechanics, but the plane looked fucking cool.

"How come hospitals have a landing pad?" one of the SeeDs asked.

Irvine seemed to be slightly more relaxed now that he thought Seifer wasn't about to go postal. This being Irvine, his manner was so laid-back as to be nearly horizontal. "It's for the emergency helicopters."

They waited in the cool evening sky for a final check of the hospital grounds. Seifer said nothing, covetousness fading as a dark cloud of fatalism settled on him like a well-worn coat. 

The silence was broken only by the roars of monsters the SeeDs hadn't annihilated and the roar of engines as three squat Balamb gunships broke out of the shadows of the cliffs and headed due northwest. Their metal armour glinted among the ripple of the ocean, and then disappeared into the night. Seifer watched them go blankly, imagining a slim peach-clothed figure inside. 

Selphie looked satisfied. "That's the other lot gone."

Nobody else said a word. The SeeDs cradled their weapons like lethal babies and watched Seifer like hawks.

Eventually he was ushered into the belly of the beast, up a narrow flight of fold-down stairs. A door hissed open on his left, the entrance light glowing green, and he was escorted through the low opening and into a hangar with glowing false-lights set into the floor. Maroon bulkheads the shade of old blood lined the walls as they entered a smaller hangar with the yellow warning markings of a lift, and then a larger room dotted with seats, aquarium-style glass panels taking up much of the walls. A SeeD he didn't recognise gestured him into a seat.

Seifer sat, leaned his head against the wall and tried to think of nothing. The alternative, he decided, was too depressing.

The landscape distracted him for a minute. It was nearly full-dark and the moon hung large and low in the sky, dappling the clouds around it with light like watered silk. It was a strange livid green hue, in unearthly contrast to the black clouds and sky surrounding it. There was no wind, the sky so still that it almost looked like a painting. It didn't look all that late, which surprised Seifer.  It felt like several millennia had passed since he'd climbed into the hospital.

Irvine watched him from across the narrow aisle, sprawled over two seats in a pose like a giant pixie. His relaxed pose belied the unwavering barrel of Exeter pointed at Seifer. The gun looked pretty deadly for something that Seifer knew for a fact was made out of flensed dino bones, star metal and a few odd screws.

"Why do I have the feeling that my life is approaching some kind of horrible closure?" Seifer muttered to himself.

The Galbadian looked up, lazy brown eyes sharpening. "I think you're getting 'closure' and 'justice' mixed up."

Seifer stretched out, ignoring him. His boots left long smears of dark rubber on the Ragnarok's floors as he stared out of the window at the sparkling ocean skidding along several hundred feet below the plane. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Irvine, still watching him.

Seifer's head ached like fire. The loss of Bahamut burned in his skull, instantly addictive and unsettling. He knew why Quistis had given him the Guardian Force-but that didn't mean he had to like it. It had been a small and jealous thought that he'd hoarded through the long days and longer nights, way back in Marduk and many times over the past few years.

_I'll still have all my brain cells-and the Guardian Force addicted SeeDs will be stumbling rapidly into late-teen senility.   _

Now he didn't even have that slightly smug comfort, because his brain was going to be wrecked as well.

_Maybe it's for the best. Maybe I won't want to remember who I am or what I did after a few years in D -District._

_Actually, maybe I should just take a walk over to that window and jump out_

But in the end, he didn't, because surviving was a habit that was hard to break. Strangely enough he felt happy, in a weird sort of way. It was partly the fact that he wasn't going to have to fight any monsters in the next five minutes, guaranteed, and mostly, he had to admit, the attention.  The seat was comfortable underneath him, he wasn't too hot or too cold, and all the younger cadets were regarding him with a fearful kind of awe that reminded him badly of the old Disciplinary Committee days.

_I shouldn't be feeling like this. In fact, it's probably proof that I really am a complete bastard, but what the hell. _

It took thirty minutes of just-under-the-sound-barrier flying to reach Balamb. To Seifer's surprise, the flight was effortlessly smooth, and this changed into disbelief when he worked out by a process of elimination that Selphie was flying the plane. The sea sparkled darkly far below them, netlike glimpses of city lights appearing as they reached Balamb, FH far to the south and visible only as a faint pale line, the lights of the Horizon Bridge. As they flew closer Balamb Garden glowed faintly, like a particularly baroque Christmas-tree ornament.

It looked just the same as Seifer remembered, back when the crystallised confection of steel and masonry had just meant Home. Apparently none of his wartime depredations had caused any lasting damage. Seifer didn't know whether or not to be pleased or disappointed.

Selphie and Irvine talked behind him, Irvine's position taken up by a couple of hard-eyed SeeD cadets. They gave him nasty looks, which Seifer returned, but they couldn't stop him from listening in.

"I couldn't get Balamb on speaker"

"We'll go in by the 2F door then. Less noticeable. Think that'll do?"

"Should be. But, Irvy, he said Quistis…"

"You don't think..."

"Nah. Can't be. There'll be some explanation. There always is, with her."

"Sure to be."

"Right. Let's go."

Selphie turned, skirt swinging. Seifer abstractly noted that she wore cowboy boots, no doubt a present from the Galbadian. She curtly nodded her head and then turned without looking back, heels clicking on the floors, and exited. Irvine lingered, his torn duster swirling round him in the air conditioning's breeze.

The nearest SeeD raised the butt of his gun to his shoulder and opened his mouth. Seifer stood before the man could tell him to and was half way across the floor before the SeeDs had even moved, smirking as they hurried to catch up. One of the SeeDs stretched out a hand as if to block him, but then stopped at a nod from Irvine, letting him go. Nobody blocked his way, he was surrounded but nobody tried to touch him, or cast magic. It was as if an unwritten agreement had passed between the cowboy and Seifer in the hangar.

_I'll go of my own accord, just as long as you let me._

The Galbadian hefted his gun, tipped back his hat, and followed. A couple of SeeDs dropped in front and Seifer followed them back into the hangars and out through the main door, down through the cricket-haunted quiet night with his boots banging on the Ragnarok's descending walkway. Sauntering with a trace of his old arrogance, he didn't hesitate.

The 2F backdoor turned out to be a tiny balcony half way up the Garden's main pyramid block that Seifer half-recognised. The building felt at once familiar but very strange as the small group of SeeDs ushered him down a long and narrow flight of stairs that led to the second floor, the one that held the classrooms.

_Makes sense, I guess. Less people this way. _

Somebody keyed open the heavily armoured door and Seifer got his second surprise of the day. The hallway was filled with children. SeeDs herded them around like harassed sheepdogs, seeming to have more trouble with groups of five-to-twelve-year-olds than trained mercenaries rightfully should.

Irvine muttered something from behind him. It sounded to Seifer's ears like "Change of lessons. Fuck"

At first it seemed like they might get away with it. A few children's faces turned, but nobody seemed to sense anything out of the usual.

_Of course_, Seifer realised, _they're used to having groups of heavily armed people wandering the hallways. And when you're twelve, two years is a long time. All sorts of things can happen in two years._

He didn't know whether to feel reassured that Garden was functioning as usual, or slightly indignant.

The quandary was solved when he looked up just as they passed the first adult SeeD, a man of about twenty-five, who was frantically trying to sort children into groups. He looked up irritably as the party scythed through his huddle of children, met Seifer's eyes, and then dropped the clipboards he was holding with a clang, seemingly rooted to the floor.

It took all of three seconds for the news to spread among the kids that there was something going on. A sea of childish faces turned, first one, then the other, drawing the attention of their guardians like cats to rotten fish.

Seifer mapped the spread of recognition through the adult SeeDs with a chorus of whispered curses, horrified glances and growing hostility. His hand went automatically for Hyperion before he realised that it wasn't there and the consequences of what he'd just walked into dawned in a single nuclear sunrise.

His feet had walked him into the mess. Now his brain had just caught up.

_I must be mad._

There was a shout from one of the classrooms. The mass of children turned, parting like the Red Sea to make way for a second party. In the sudden hush, Seifer could hear the pulse of the Ragnarok's engines as the spaceship disconnected its landing gear from the balcony and pulled away into the night sky.

There was a kind of peaceful inevitability as he recognised the faces of the group coming towards him. A single classman in thick robes and distinctive yellow hat glided before them, speaking into a microphone and pausing every so often to translate her speech into Estharian dialect. 

"And here is the second floor. This is where most of the classrooms are. All our teachers are highly accredited by the standards of most education systems and _holy fuck just who the hell is that_?"

The classman clapped one hand over her invisible mouth and dropped her microphone. Seifer registered her movements out of the corner of his eyes, staring over her padded shoulders.

_Squall. It would be. Not looking a day over eighteen, for all that he must be pushing twenty now. Black, as usual. No weapons. Hmm, nice scar, Leonhart._

The faces surrounding Squall were less familiar. They looked vaguely important, most dressed in Estharian robes. Standing at Squall's right shoulder was a slightly taller man in a turquoise blue workshirt, strands of grey in his long dark hair. His rolled-up sleeves seemed slightly out of place, even incongruous, amongst the formal uniforms.  Beside him stood a massive, bald man who seemed to loom even when standing still and , beside _him_, a slender dark skinned fighter who carried himself on the balls of his feet in a way that reminded him of Zell. Who, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.

One of the Estharian party tugged at Squall's sleeve, whispering urgently into his ear.  Squall ignored him, but Seifer caught the words 'trial' and 'prisoner of war' and 'Galbadians' before other voices rose round him to block out the sound.

Irvine's voice was even more heavily accented than usual, vowels rolling liquidly off his tongue. "I didn't know he was showin' the Estharians roun' _today_…"

"Seifer." Squall's voice sounded terminally unenthusiastic, but then it always did.

"Squall."

Quistis leant back into the plush blue seats and let her breath in a sigh. The reinforcements had come just in time to save the day, but all she could feel was depression, pure and simple distilled essence of this-sucks. Two of the tiny fleet had peeled off to take the casualties to the hospital in Deling City and the few unhurt rebels to D-District for debriefing. Quistis couldn't help feeling that she'd have preferred to bring them to Balamb, but the smaller Garden simply didn't have the holding facilities for thirty-odd prisoners who might still be hostile, and in the end she'd had to be satisfied with this temporary measure. She'd declined all questions, stating flatly that she'd tell the Commander when they got back.  Not before.

_Ah, well. I've failed in my mission, but Seifer escaped. Again. This is beginning to become a habit._

Despite Quistis' best intentions, she couldn't help feeling disappointed.  

_And no matter how much I tell myself I'm angry, I can't pretend it's true…._

She steadied herself with a hand on the seat as the craft rocked around her, cresting through the waves with the grace of a charging bull elephant. The compartment was almost empty, most of the accompanying SeeDs having tactfully elected to decamp to the fore compartment so that Quistis could have some time alone. Rinoa occupied the three seats opposite her, curled up with Angelo at her feet and for once in her life saying nothing. As the craft slowed, nearing the shallower waters of Balamb's large harbour, the sorceress lifted her head from her arms and gave Quistis a worried stare. Angelo whined.

"We should get you to Doctor Kadowaki. You look like you need some help."

Quistis pushed her spectacles up her nose, squinting through a cracked lens. "You may be right."

Rinoa yawned, and tried to hide it badly. "Still, it's nice to know that we've finished the mission."

"Yes" Quistis said, unenthusiastically. She wanted, more than anything, to lay her head right down on the temptingly soft blue cushions and go to sleep, but there was still work to be done. She catalogued her 'to do' list in her head as the boat rocked madly around them. They must be coming into land, she thought, hazily.

_One: find Squall for debriefing. _

_Two: go to the doctor_

_Three: catch up with Selphie and the rest, find if they got everybody else out safely….. _

Now that was a thought.

Quistis cupped her chin in one hand and spoke brightly to Rinoa. "So, have you heard from Selphie?" 

Rinoa nodded. "I didn't catch the transmission, but she sounded quite excited. She said they'd caught somebody."

Every cell in Quistis's body instantaneously went on red alert. "Who? Did they say who?"

Rinoa looked surprised. "I can't remember." She bent down to give Angelo a titbit, smiling as the dog nipped it gently from her hand.

Quistis sighed, exasperatedly. "I'm sure you would. Trust me, Rinoa, this is important. Please try!"

The young sorceress brushed dark silky hair from her eyes. "I don't know. All she said was that they were heading straight to Garden in the plane."

Quistis tried another tack. "When?"

The Ragnarok got in five minutes ago…." She gave Quistis's horrified expression a single glance. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

Quistis lunged up from the couch, crossed the compartment in two fast strides and flung open the hatch catches, leaning her weight on the door to force it open. The sea breeze hit her in the face like a slap as the metal creaked and then suddenly gave, putting her face-to-face with a couple of surprised dockhands who were busy fixing the gangplank in place. She jumped onto the jetty, stumbling as her heels sank into the soft wood.

There was a plaintive wail from the open hatch of the transport. "Quisty!"

Quistis ignored Rinoa and hurried on. Hair whipped across her face as she looked around, praying that the Balamb Garden car was waiting. It was, a long-wheelbase model Jeep with fat all-terrain tyres and polished chrome fenders.   

Quistis swiped her ID card across the doorslot, caught the door as it hissed open and climbed in. Swearing viciously under her breath, she clicked the card into the ignition and shifted into first as the car roared to life around her. First to fifth took her two seconds as the car's wide-based wheels skidded for purchase on the tarmac and then took off like a bat out of hell.   

_This feels bad._

_I really hope I'm wrong….._

She floored the accelerator and kept it down, flying past the blurred faces of pedestrians in a haze of burning rubber and exhaust fumes and out of Balamb township's gates.

The two-mile road to Garden took all of a minute, Quistis's knuckles white on the steering wheel. She gunned the accelerator right up to the automatic garage doors, pulled across two parking spaces with a blatant disregard for any rules, and leapt out, leaving the engine running and her ID still in the ignition, pausing only when she reached the peaceful surroundings of the 1F hall.

Everything was quiet. The water rippled softly in the moat, competing with the hum of heaters and air conditioning. No explosions. No screams. No Seifer.

Quistis shook her head and headed left to the elevator, hands automatically tucking back tangles of blond hair into her bun. Halfway down the courtyard hallway she met her first cadet and grabbed him by the shoulders, ignoring appearances. 

"Has anything strange happened?"

The cadet, eyes wide, shook his head. His chin bobbed from left to right and then paused, his attention drawn away from the dishevelled instructor holding his upper arms in a grip like a vice.  Quistis followed his lines of vision and narrowed her eyes.

The cracked lens of her spectacles shattered half her vision into miniature kaleidoscopes, but despite this, she could see that a crowd had gathered on the second floor of the Garden.  There looked to be about fifty people there, but they were almost eerily silent.  

Quistis let go of the hapless cadet and took off at a dead run for the elevator as he stared after her, a horrible sense of dread rising in her mouth.  

The lift, predictably, took ages to come, and even longer to reach the top as Quistis stabbed at the keypad with fingers suddenly made clumsy. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass doors, pale, drawn and haggard, hair and clothes a mess. Reaching up, she traced the line of dark dried blood on her face.

_I don't look like myself any more. I don't know what to do.  _

The lift ground to a stop, elevator music fading out.

Quistis was through the doors before they had even opened fully. She ran straight into a crowd of turned backs and pushed through the spectators, using a mixture of determination, elbows and reputation to obtain a good view.

She wound up against one of the pillars that supported the classroom walkway, with a good view of both antagonists.

Seifer. Squall. It didn't surprise her.

Seifer scowled. His jaw was set, arms folded defensively across his chest. Thankfully, he appeared to still be in one piece, though Quistis wasn't sure how long this happy state of affairs would continue.    

Squall faced him, backed by a small group of visiting dignitaries. Quistis recognised most of them with a sinking heart. There was the current President of Esthar, and Squall's father, Laguna Loire, backed by his two best friends and most of his cabinet. There was the Headmistress of Trabia Garden, her long greying hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, with the current President of Dollet, a personal friend of hers.

Quistis named them all automatically, thanking Hyne Martine was absent. Now that would have been a real can of worms.

Squall coughed. "You're back."

Quistis swallowed, wondering whether or not to step forwards.

Seifer scowled harder, if such a thing was possible "Yes."

The Trabian Headmistress glared at Seifer like he was a cockroach.  "Cadet 24602, there is a warrant out for your arrest for crimes committed during the Second Sorceresses Wars against Balamb Garden. Namely, an attack on the then President of Galbadia, Vinzer Deling, numerous assaults on Balamb SeeDs and betraying the cause and order of the Garden organisation to side with Sorceress Edea. How do you plead?"

Quistis guessed that the stern little woman had practised the speech.

Seifer just shrugged. He looked tired and ill-equipped in the midst of so many ramrod-straight SeeDs and agog children.

Squall held up one hand. "No."

"What?" The Trabian woman looked aggrieved.

Squall spoke quietly, but his voice carried effortlessly across the hall. "Vinzer Deling is dead and as such cannot press charges.  As for the Edea question, the sorceress herself was acquitted of all blame. Which leaves the attacks on Balamb SeeDs to be dealt with, and, as the Commander of Balamb, I claim the right to deal justice."

"Hey. You don't have to make excuses for me." Seifer broke in. He was talking to Squall, but his gaze searched the crowd and finally met Quistis' eyes in a glance that was almost gentle. A goodbye, she guessed, of sorts.

"I'm not. We finish this. Now." Squall glanced round at the surrounding faces, then seemed to come to a quick decision. His voice wasn't particularly angry, but it wasn't friendly either. "A duel, Almasy."

"Fine." Seifer's face was unreadable. "Taped gunblades?"

Squall only shook his head. Seifer raised an eyebrow, slouched on the corner of the desk like he hadn't a care in the world. One shoulder moved slightly under his tattered T-shirt in a gesture that might have been a shrug.

Quistis spared a moment of admiration for Squall. _Yes, this is clever of him. He knows Seifer will never back down in public, and that this needs to be sorted out as fast and decisively as possible. _

_Of course, this show of heroic bravery isn't exactly doing his PR any harm, either.._

One of the watching cadets stepped forwards, watching Seifer warily, as if he might explode. "Sir, are you sure that's…..

Squall held up one hand. "Leave it."

"I mean.."

"Just leave it, I said." Squall didn't turn to face the crowd. A stray ray of sunlight caught the ring on his upraised hand as he stood there in the midst of his SeeDs, facing Seifer down.  Squall's other hand moved almost unconsciously to the hilt of the Lionheart.

Seifer gave him a mocking glance, but said nothing. The rivals were staring at each other like two angry cats, all hackles raised, claws barely showing. Both dressed in black, this time.

"When?" Seifer spat out the comment as a challenge, a dropped glove

"Now."

"_Fine_."

There was a collective breath from the crowd, a kind of indrawn frission of excitement that earthed itself through every bystander. The tense silence was broken by a susurrus of racing whispers.

_"Now…"_

_"He's going to do it. He's going to beat the Knight."  _

_"He's going to execute him."_

_Oh, Hyne…_Quistis thought, and shrank back into the crowd. 

_No one'll dare to challenge Squall.. he isn't going to back down, and he won't change his mind. And nobody will dare call him on it because then it'll look like they doubt him. That Seifer might be able to beat him. _

_But I know he won't. He might be good, but Squall's had all that time to train…_

_Squall's better._

_This is so stupid._

She glanced frantically around for possible allies, catching a glimpse of Rinoa's sleek black hair as the crowds closed around them both.

_No._

_Anyone else…..somebody, anybody…_

Her glance fell on a mismatched pair of figures stood slightly apart from the rest at the edge of the crowd. Sunlight gleamed from the woman's shining silver hair, reflected from the hulking shoulder pads of her taller partner. 

Fuujin. Raijin..

She fought her way to them, through the assembly. Raijin gave her a nod of acknowledgment as she reached them. Fuujin stood like a statue, with her arms folded and her back to a pillar, and said nothing.

Quistis looked from one to the other, suddenly at a loss for words. She cleared her throat "Help me..stop this."

Fuujin gracefully deigned to break the silence. "NO."

"I haven't even asked you yet."

"KNOW. NO."

It should have been impossible to distinguish the two words, but Quistis heard the slight emphasis on the second phrase.   Fuujin didn't talk much, but she never had any problem making herself understood.

"She'd right, you know." Raijin put a protective arm round the silver-haired woman's shoulders. Fuujin shrugged the gesture off automatically, but Raijin didn't seem to mind.

"It's what he wants."

"How can you think that..?"

This is Seifer, she wanted to say. Seifer, who's cheated death so many times the guy'll be coming to ask for his shirt back one of these days and this kind of fatalism just isn't like him… My Seifer, and I haven't even had a chance to talk to him without pretending since we left the hospital….

"KNOW." The small woman stared out at her from her single eye, face hard as adamantine.

"Please."

Fuujin seemed to soften. She gave Quistis a cool look that somehow conveyed that she knew exactly what she'd been doing, and who with and no, she didn't have to like it, but sometimes that was how it was, and if it was okay with Seifer, then it was okay with her.

Raijin shook his head. "We're sorry, ya know…With you guys and all..

"How did you…?" Quistis shut her mouth, quickly. Their conversation was beginning to turn heads, and she had enough problems without standing like a startled goldfish among a crowd of young and highly impressionable cadets.  "Who else?"

Fuujin played with her hair, twirling the silky strands around one finger. She met Quistis' eyes almost shyly. "KNOW SEIFER. LOOKED. AT YOU "

Raijin put an arm round her shoulder and this time the little woman didn't push it away.

"Don't worry. We haven't told anyone. They don't know that the boss and you…"

"RAIJIN, IDIOT!" Fuujin let go of her hair and stamped on the bigger man's foot, a gesture that couldn't possibly have hurt as much as you'd think from the wounded expression on his face. "QUIET!"

"Hey! What did I do…" Raijin protested in a tone of highly injured innocence. "Fuu…"

 Fuujin reached up and put one hand on Quistis' arm, a rarely demonstrative gesture even for her. Quistis could feel the coolness of her palm through the fabric of her uniform. "WAIT. WILL WORK"

Quistis darted an anxious glance back into the midst of the crowd, which had formed in a tight knot around its champion. Seifer was nowhere to be seen.

"PROMISE."

Fuujin turned and walked away, her small size allowing her to disappear imperceptibly into the milling crowd within paces.

"Hey, Fuuj! Wait up..!" Raijin called after her. He turned back to Quistis "It'll be fine, just wait and see. The boss knows what he's doing."

"Really." Quistis said in a tone of extreme scepticism. She noted absently that he hadn't said whether in this context 'the boss' meant Seifer or Squall and found that vaguely comforting.

_I wish I had your faith, Fuujin. I really wish I though he had something planned…_

Raijin's eyes twinkled kindly in his dark face. "Seeya."

Quistis recoiled slightly as the big man patted her hand with a visible effort to be gentle. Quistis was tall, but Raijin was big, bigger pound for pound than Seifer, and most of it was muscle.

She watched as he followed Fuujin into the crowd, with a lot less grace. The people had parted for the small woman almost imperceptibly, but Raijin elbowed his way through with a gusto that had cadets reeling back from him like a reversed magnet in a bowl of iron filings.

_Hyne…_

She followed the last press of cadets out into the hallway and stood miserably waiting for the lift and trying not to catch anybody's eyes.  Her stomach was a hard knot of apprehension..

Somebody tugged at her elbow.

"Instructor!"

Quistis looked down into the round, excited face of one of her first-year students.

"It's so exciting, isn't it. The Commander's totally going to kill him!"

"Can we watch?"

"No!" Quistis said automatically, realising as she did so that she didn't have a clue whether the famous meeting of the rivals was going to be a public sport or not.

"Awwww!"

"Can we? Can we, can we, can, we?"

Quistis thought, with a certain grim humour, of the softly, softly approach of the CLA when it came to children's rights. "I don't think so."

"I want to see his head get chopped off"

"Whose head's getting chopped off?" The question came from another student who'd  just recently joined the group.

"The commander's going to chop the evil Knight's head off and there'll be blood all over the place.." one of the other cadets informed him with relish.

"Maybe it'll roll. Bounce, bounce, bounce…

"Cool!"  

Quistis put a hand to her forehead. "Nobody's head is going to get chopped off, all right?" Hoping desperately that what she was saying was true, she adopted a calm, reasonable tone which anybody who'd had dealings with excited children could have told her that that was a mistake." Now, it's almost past your bedtime and I think you're all getting a bit carried away.."

 "Bounce, bounce."

Quistis groaned.

 The tannoy crackled into life. "Commander Leonhart requests that all qualified Seeds report immediately to the training centre. I repeat, all qualified SeeDs report immediately to the Training Centre. All cadets please leave at once for your dormitories. You have five minutes before the automatic locks are activated. I repeat, five minutes."

There was a collective groan from the small group surrounding Quistis.

"Aww."

"Not fair…"

Quistis turned to the elevator just in time to see Zell's familiar jaunty silhouette rising through the lift doors, partially obscured by the sudden crush of people fighting to travel down a level and get to the training centre first.  Quistis looked quickly away, weighing the chances of escaping before he saw her. Not good…

_Not now, I really don't want this now. _

She looked desperately around for a place to hide. The children were already beginning to disperse for their rooms and they were way too short to hide behind anyway..

The lift doors pinged open and Zell came striding out wearing a grin so large his tattoo wrinkled.  He caught sight of Quistis, waved and hurried over, ignoring her last-ditch effort to escape. "Heard the news?"

"Yes." Quistis said cautiously.

"I can't believe it!. This is so great. He's finally going to teach that rat-bastard Almasy a lesson like he should have done years ago!"

Quistis turned round, slowly, and gave him a Look.

Zell visibly wilted. "Aww, come on, Quisty! It's not like he's going to lose." He brightened, misreading her mood. "Squall's not going to get hurt. He already beat him once, remember? In fact, more than once."

Quistis nodded. _Oh yes.…_

 "Zell, what did the announcement mean? About all the SeeDs?"

"What do you think it meant? I thought you were smart." His gloved hand came up to her face and patted her none too gently on the head.

Quistis ducked too late and then swatted his hand away, smoothing her bun back into its usual immaculate shape.  Her voice had barbs. "Enlighten me."

"Squall said he wants the whole of Garden to be there. He said they needed to see what's going on."

"Right."

"Except the young ones, because I reckon he'd thought there'd be too much blood or something. Quistis, are you all right?"

Quistis had turned away to lean on the banister, glancing below at the last few cadets hurrying for their dorm rooms. "Yes, Zell. I'm fine." _Bless your total lack of emotional perception…_

"Cute kids, huh?"

"Zell, they're a load of bloodthirsty miniature vampires."

"Like I said. Anyway, better get going. We don't want to miss the fight."

"No." Quistis said in a voice like a razor. Zell didn't notice, chattering blithely away on the relative merits of death by firing squad versus hanging.

Quistis sincerely liked Zell. He was a nice guy, with all that the expression entailed, the kind of guy who'd forget your birthday and then blow a month's wages on a bouquet the size of a Chocobo to make up for it. It was a pity, because as far as tact went he might as well walk round with his foot permanently in his mouth, to save time. She sighed. "People change."

"Not that much."

"True." Quistis admitted, reluctantly.

Zell took her comment as assent and shut up as the lift came and they both entered Zell bounced from foot to foot, singing a little song. Quistis stared at her reflection in the mirrored glass.

_Seifer, why can't you take the easy option? I admit I'm not quite sure what it is, but there's got to be an easier way than this. _

But then, for Seifer, fighting probably _was_ the easy option. Easier than backing down in front of a crowd, anyway.

_Why, asshole?_, she thought furiously and then froze, one hand poised spiderlike over the lift controls as she realised the answer.

Seifer's acceptance of the challenge made a lot more sense if he still believed in the kind of fairytale logic that had got him into trouble in the first place.

_I think he'd get some kind of fatalistic, masochistic satisfaction out of it-first the whole drama thing, and then the whole red-hot-shoes-for-the-bad-guy implications. He's got a pretty sick sense of dramatic justice, when you think about it. Does he still believe in that kind of stuff enough to accept his narratively satisfying just deserts? Maybe, if he's worked himself up into a fatalistic enough mood._

_Oh, Hyne.  This is bad. This is really bad._

_And the  scary thing is, I still have no idea how his mind works, though I'm willing to bet there must be a fair bit of loose wiring somewhere…_

The lift doors opened. The halls were empty, children scattered. Those SeeDs she did see were hastening to the Training Centre, some in nightclothes, others in casuals, fatigues, uniforms -everything under the sun. Nobody was going to miss the big showdown.

Quistis checked her watch and hurried along, Zell keeping up easily.

"What's the matter, QT?"

"Don't call me that." Quistis said, but her heart wasn't in it.

Zell looked cautiously into her face, and then tried to put a companiable arm round her shoulders. It didn't work, mainly because they were both walking fast but also because Quistis was two inches taller than Zell. He tripped over his own feet and looked up, slightly abashed.

"It's going to be okay. Squall'll be just fine. We won't let Seifer do anything to the Garden this time."

Quistis gave him a sideways glance, hurrying into the green-striped corridor that led to the Training Centre. She imagined herself sprinting out into the arena, screaming "No!" with dramatic fury, and realised in the same instant that she wouldn't. Her conscience just wouldn't let her, and, if she did convince Squall to spare Seifer's life, the ex-knight would never forgive her.

Zell clapped her on the arm. "Almost there."

Quistis speeded up, smelling the scent of hothouse flowers and warm water. "Yes."

They bumped gently into the outer ring of people as soon as they got into the main hall. The atmosphere reminded Quistis of a concert just before the big band came on. There was the same air of electric anticipation, all eyes focused on the two dark figures standing in a hastily-chalked duel circle engraved in the sand.      

Seifer stood in the circle and watched his opponent carefully. The cool tingle of adrenaline stung his veins, making him feel faintly euphoric. Everything was very vivid, the false wind of the air-conditioning cold on his face. Somebody had given him back Hyperion, he didn't remember who, and wasn't sue that it mattered. He felt cool metal through his patched glove, and grinned.  

_He can't lose. Even if I beat him, I won't last five seconds……and then they'll have something to pin on me. The more pointy the better. And they already have plenty of things. I'm going to be one hell of a pincushion._

_Clever, Squall.__ You never used to be this devious. If I lose, I lose, and I'm dead. And if I win, you're dead…..and then I won't live the night._

_But who cares? If you're going to go down, you might as well make a lasting impression.  Or at least one hell of a stain._

There was a sneaking feeling-he damn well wouldn't admit it- that there was a weird kind of honour in dying in a fair, witnessed fight against the guy he'd done the most wrong to. All in all, he decided, it was better than a trial. In fact, in a way, it was a trial. By combat.

Seifer gave Squall a challenging grin. "Ready?"

Squall's face was impassive. "Duel rules. Sudden death."

"Fine with me." He gave Squall a mocking half-bow.

The Commander of all Balamb brushed his hair from his eyes. "Yes." He stepped lightly forwards and traced the tip of his gunblade across the sand in a straight line. "Ready?"

"Ready." Seifer snarled.

And they began to fight.

It wasn't the most impressive fight in history, or even the most technically dazzling-certainly neither of the opponents were scoring points-but for sheer drama it had all watchers hooked. Zell cheered Squall on like a football fan. Fujin watched from a corner, arms folded, her face impassive. Raiijin had declined to attend, as had Rinoa. Selphie watched from halfway up the chainlink fence, the pointed toes of her aubergine leather cowboy boots resting gently on Irvine's shoulders. Quistis, frozen in entirely uncharacteristic indecision, watched with her heart in her mouth.

Squall duelled methodically, and with deadly, textbook perfect efficiency, wringing more speed and strength than you would have thought possible out of that deceptively wiry form. Seifer fought with all his usual effectively vicious grace and the fuck-tomorrow smile of a man who had just burned all of his boats.

Quistis watched them both, listening to the hushed conversation of the people around her.

"_Nah.__ He must be good. You seen the Commander fight normally? It's like watching flat racing, no sport at all, it's over so fast, he just -did you see that?"_

_ "I heard that Squall trains all night. I heard he can take on T –Rexaurs solo!" _

_"Yeah-you know, in the wars, he killed fourteen Galbadian soldiers. Singlehanded!"_

_"And a dog, right….."_

The hot grass smelled of summer.

Sweat stung Seifer's eyes. He didn't bother to wipe at it, his vision concentrating on the steel flash of Squall's blade, the smaller man's body language and the flicker in his eyes that gave Seifer scant warning of his next attack. They were both bleeding from a half a dozen wounds, moving slower now to store their strength. The fight was still dazzlingly fast, half deadly dance, half brute contest of force.

 Seifer realised he didn't know who had drawn first blood, and then thought that it didn't matter. After all, he knew damn well who was going to draw last, and that very acceptance gave Squall the edge. If you could convince your opponent that they were going to lose, the fight was already half-won. A tactic he'd used many times, with varying degrees of success.

_Of course the bastard's realised that wearing black under bright lights makes him fucking harder to see…..  _

His free hand fought for a purchase on cloth, missed, and caught at a chain. He pulled automatically, hearing Leonhart gasp, and realised just what he'd got hold of. Squall's necklace. The sharp edges of the lion pendant bit into his hand just below his clenched fist as he pulled, almost laughing as he reversed the grip on his gunblade for a slash.

_Dramatic justice, getting strangled by your own accessories.._

Leonhart pulled back, choking, the Lionheart out of range. Seifer was too close, and Squall just couldn't bring the sword to bear. The ex-knight pulled harder, twisting the chain-and then swore as the necklace snapped, sending a few odd links scattering across their battleground. The impact sent them both staggering back.

Seifer cursed and dropped the pendant, frantically shifting his grip on the gunblade to allow for long-range combat as Squall went on the offensive. Some old quote from one of the books he'd checked out of the library and never returned ran through his head, over and over…

_Pray you never face a good man. He'll kill you with hardly a word. _

Seifer, always one for taunting in battle, wondered what that made him…and then he just stopped thinking at all for a second as Squall brought the Lionheart up in a slice that he barely managed to parry. Sweat stung his eyes as he leant on the blade, trying to wear Leonhart down.

It didn't work. Squall neatly disengaged his sword and stepped back. Seifer turned his momentum into a desperate punch to Squall's face, knocking the smaller man back as the crowd hissed. It was a last-ditch attempt, and they both knew it.

Seifer tried and failed to wrench his own sword up in time to block the blow he knew was coming. There was a brief moment of panic and then blind acceptance.

_I'm not going to make it… _

Squall's gunblade slashed down, not up. The flat of the sword caught Seifer on the back of his hand, not hard enough to lose fingers but sharp and painful enough to make him drop Hyperion, eyes hopelessly following the falling blade as Squall brought his sword to bear on Seifer's throat.

And just like that, the fight was over.

Seifer jerked himself to a halt just in time to avoid impaling himself on the point of Squall's blade.

_Fuck. _

The point of the Lionheart traced up from the tense muscles of Seifer's neck to the corner of his right eye-socket. It pressed against his cheekbone for a minute, drawing blood, and then reached up to trace his scar.

Seifer, hands up, didn't dare move. His breath rasped in his throat, and he thought he tasted blood. It was some consolation that Squall was breathing hard as well, his vest streaked with sweat. He could smell him, salt and blood and the faintly oily scent of worn leather all overlaid by the sweet sickly tang of the Training Centre's plants.

_He won. But at least I made him fight for it._

Squall's eyes narrowed, brow ridging in concentration, his hand shaking just a little on the gunblade's hilt.  Seifer scowled back, refusing to close his eyes.

_Damn, the last thing I get to see is that girly bastard_

The sharp edge of the Lionheart moved down again to his throat.

 "Fuck, Leonhart, just do it and get it over with."

Squall pressed the gunblade to his neck. Seifer leant his head back. Warm blood trickled down into the hollow of his throat, stinging with sweat. His right hand hurt like hell, and he didn't dare glance down to see how deeply Squall's last swipe had cut.

_I think I'm gonna have bigger problems in five minutes, anyway…_

Squall leaned closer, sliding the Lionheart's blade along Seifer's skin a bare millimetre from his neck.

"One thing, Almasy."

"_What_?"

"I talked to Rinoa"

_I can't believe we're having this conversation_, Seifer thought. _First damn thing he's said to me in years and now I'm just about to die and he wants to chat about my ex-girlfriend… _

"So_?_"

The wall of faces was a blur surrounding them both.

"She told me about sorceresses, Almasy. I don't know how it was with you and ..Matron, but she says that she can't force anyone to do anything that's against their secret nature in the first place."

Seifer frowned, trying to work out where this was going. "Rinoa's no Adel.  Or even an Edea."

"I think we both know that. I'm going to ask you something and listen very carefully because I'm going to say this only once. In the wars. Did you know what you were doing all that time? Did you _enjoy_ it?"

There were old buried memories in Squall's clear grey gaze, shades of the D-District prison and a younger, stupider Seifer who'd believed so absolutely in the rightness of his actions that he'd never once stopped to question them.

"I might be a nasty bastard but I'm _not a fucking coward_."

Squall nodded, once, lowered the gunblade, and walked away. 

He got half way across the bark-floor area and turned

"Seifer."

"Yeah."

"One piece of advice. It won't kill you to act grateful, but if you don't it might. Remember it." 

Seifer stared after him for a long second and then sank to his knees in the earth, its warm alive scent assaulting him like a blow. The nicotine habit caught up with his lungs and he coughed his guts up and then rose to his feet, deciding  that he was walking out of this or nothing.

He looked round at the hazy crowd of staring faces and saw shelter.

Quistis watched, nails dug into the palms of her hands. It had taken ever once of her self-control to say nothing. Telling herself that this was Seifer's fight and he wouldn't thank her for intervening hadn't helped much. And worse, she wasn't sure how she would have reacted if Squall had tried to kill him. 

A hand tapped her shoulder. Stumbling slightly, she turned, and saw her commander. Squall pushed dark unruly hair back behind his ears and leant the Lionheart against his leg.  His other hand held Hyperion, and he seemed not to notice the weight.

Quistis raised one eyebrow.

_Should I tell him? Is this the right moment? _

She avoided her eyes, pretending to push her spectacles up, and half-turned to catch a glimpse of the arena.

The circle of sand was empty.

"What are we going to do?" she said, half to herself. She wasn't sure whether 'we' refereed to her and Seifer or her and Garden but Squall interpreted her comment as the latter, and frowned.

 "I've never told this to anyone, but you remember back when I found out Rinoa was a sorceress and I was still a SeeD? I loved her, Quistis. I still love her. Even if she ended up, if she ends up, being the world's enemy, I'll still love her. I'll be her knight. But I won't kill innocents for her. There's worse things you can do for somebody than die. He did them.  I didn't. "

His speech surprised Quistis, who grimaced. She didn't understand. Squall had everything to gain but executing Seifer, but he hadn't, and now he sounded suspiciously like he was trying to justify his strategy to her.

Squall moved closer, boots scuffing on the warm sand of the Training Centre.

"However, I am prepared to offer…..protective custody.  I'm not sure if it's worth it. If he's worth it."

"I fail to see what this has got to do with me?" Quistis said, because she thought it was the kind of thing she should have said. The people around them were thinning out, respectfully giving their Commander and one of Garden's most famous SeeDs a wide berth.

"I'm sorry, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't want to ask this of you. I know you didn't get on."

 "What, Squall?"

"Just go and get him, would you?" He didn't wait for an answer, heading for the exit with his deceptively fast stride. Quistis stood with her hands on her hips. She called after him "Where from?"

Squall didn't turn or look round.

Quistis looked down at her feet, boots scuffed and ruined. A ring of tracks deeply indented the scrubby sand, damp from the sprinklers that provided the high humidity the plants and most of the more exotic monsters required to survive.

The artificial lighting, high overhead, hit her from all angles, casting a many-faceted shadow on the soil around her.

Most of the footprints headed behind her, to the massive doors of the training centre. One set headed away from her. Quistis followed the tracks with her eyes. They snaked slightly from the intricate pattern of sword-form footprints left by the duel, Squall's textbook-perfect, Seifer's deeper, larger tracks marked with scuffs and long spattering sprays of sand.

They headed to the Training Centre's second set of doors, smaller than the first, even thicker and caged in steel grids. Blue sparks bounced off the metal from the electrified fence. They looked like they were built to keep in baby dinosaurs, which, coincidentally enough, they were. 

Quistis swore in the privacy of her own head. She stood in the litter of gravel, dropped term papers and what she could have sworn were betting slips for a second and then headed towards the left-hand door, following the tracks.

Half way across the arena she paused and beckoned to one of the stragglers. There was a brief conversation, ending in a small item being passed from hand to hand. Quistis whispered thanks and headed to the entrance.

The doors hissed open in a second, recognising her SeeD ID. They revealed a thickly forested enclosure, planted with palm trees and exotic flowers with surprisingly business-like wipe-clean stainless steel walkways, railings and fence lines. Every metal surface wept condensation, resembling a tropical rainforest. The air was humid and moist, veiled with spider's webs and fed by an intricate network of pipes that poked up every so often from the soil. Sprinklers hissed and from somewhere off to her right a monster let out a bloodcurdling growl.

Quistis ignored it and brushed spiderwebs from her face. She followed the red lights of the perimeter fence off to her left, dodging piles of lumber left for sporing Grat habitat. Water dripped down her tunic and spidersilk trailed across her face, tickling. The prints were less distinct here, the thin layer of soil overlaying concrete slabs and piping didn't take up tracks well, but clear enough to follow. An opening glowed in front of her like the front door of an alien spaceship.      

Quistis went in.

The door opened onto an incongruous balcony, lit by cold blue lights that emphasised the early evening chill on her damp skin. The balcony looked out onto the plains and beaches of Balamb, lush fertile land inhabited only by fierce creatures. Further away Balamb Town glowed on the horizon. 

Quistis waited. He was there. She'd known he would be, after all.

She leant against the doorjamb, wincing a little at the cool stone through her thin uniform undershirt. The jacket had been lost somewhere in the halls and corridors of Cape Wrath's only hospital, ripped up and used as bandages, and she was cold.

She couldn't see Seifer properly in the dark, only enough to know that he was alive, and against all odds still standing. He must have heard her enter, but he didn't turn round, leaning on the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.

Quistis pulled her soaked hair into a messy knot at the back of her head. She wiped condensation off her spectacles, wiping her fingers over the wet chain and leather of her whip

_Have to clean that before it's ruined. Later, perhaps. _

She sighed softly, lost for words. A hundred questions ran through her head, and she picked the first one that came to mind. "Why did you come here?"

"Where else? Don't have a room at Garden. Don't know where Fujin and Raijin are. Too dumb to go to the infirmary. Too proud to go after Squall and ask him why the fuck I'm still alive. So that left here. And I'm damn sure nobody else is going to follow me in…"

Quistis heard the one reason Seifer hadn't given, that he would have wanted to lose the crowd, fast. After all, there was a load of hyped-up mercenaries who had just seen that he could be beaten and who didn't like him very much.

_Nobody else is going to follow me……._

"Apart from me. You could have come to me."

"I think everybody else's had just enough revelation as they can take today." Seifer said, grimly.

Quistis left the spot where she'd taken root and joined Seifer on the balcony, where they stood uneasily a few centimetres away from each other, careful of who might be looking. She rested her elbows on the balcony sill, feeling the sudden sense of distance underneath, hundreds of feet from the thin stone floor of the balcony to the ground. "I don't think they believe in the Last Minute Redemption theory."

Seifer rubbed one hand over his face, resting his forehead on his palm. "Yeah, I've seen the error of my ways, please don't kill me."

"He didn't." Quistis pointed out.

"I would have, if it was me. Don't know why he didn't, the asshole. And don't think that doesn't piss me off."

"You'd rather be dead?"

"No, I just wonder why I'm not."

The pauses became longer.  Sentences broke off and fell into pools of engrossing silence.  They both turned and stood leaning against the rail, elbows touching, breathing slowly.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence, a sense of things changing, each unsure how to bridge the gap.

Quistis looked down, feeling suddenly awkward. Seifer didn't seem to want to talk, and she couldn't help but feel disappointed that she hadn't been worth living for, despite his crazy suicidal mood.

Seifer coughed, fingers reaching for non-existing cigarettes and closing irritably with a snap.

Quistis checked the illuminated letters on her watch. They had a few minutes before Squall sent somebody else to find out why Quistis wasn't back, a few minutes before they had to return to the real world and face the music. She said simply "I'm proud of you."

"Why? Everything that's happened, it's just been one big accident."

"You came back."

"Swallowed so much pride, it's a wonder I'm not choking." Seifer suddenly looked thoughtful, face blue-lit between shadows. "Besides, aren't you supposed to tell me to mend my ways?"

"It's your life. Do what you want with it." Quistis looked thoughtful.  "Besides, nobody's got that much thread."

"True." He still didn't meet her eyes. They both stared out at the moon, each acutely aware and uncomfortable of the other, each unwilling to talk about the real issues.

"It'll be hard."

"I know."

"But it shouldn't be easy."

Seifer didn't answer. He turned towards her and put one hand on her hip, fingers closing awkwardly around the curve of bone and muscle. Quistis looked up, noting that he was shaking very slightly, moving stiffly as if he ached.

He kissed her lightly on the back of her neck, fingers walking up her spine, and then pulled abruptly away. "It'll be all right. I know it'll be all right. I can make this work."

Quistis nodded, unsure if she believed him or not. She touched him gently on the arm. "Here. I borrowed this. Make it last."

Seifer, surprised, looked down at her palm. The bluish lights coming from the Training Centre gave her pale skin an almost otherworldly glow. Cupped in the centre of her hand was a small paper cylinder, the words Lucky Strikes almost invisibly embossed on its filter tip. He took the cigarette gently, fingers grazing her palms, and stared at it like it was the last smoke in the world, digging in his pocket for a lighter.

"Thought you needed it."

Seifer, hands halfway to his mouth, gave her a sideways grin. "Yeah."

He lit the cigarette and leant his head back, blowing smoke into the velvet-dark night sky.  

The moon shone hazily, just over the horizon, and they both ignored it. Seifer stared into the night, watching something replayed in the darkness behind his eyes. Quistis leant on the balcony railing and watched him, hands clasped loosely. Some time later she checked the glowing numbers on her digital watch, yawned and stretched

"We should go in."

Seifer stubbed his cigarette out on the marble balcony sill and flicked the glowing stub over the side, where it tumbled several hundred feet to the ground, setting light to a small and unremarkable tree.

The moon watched silently from the heavens as the pair turned without touching and made their way back indoors. It was an almost indecently romantic night, a time for secret whispers under the stars, declarations of true love.

Maybe later.

And so it ends.  Hope you liked the final chapter, complete with showdown, and the reappearance of several guest characters (poor klutzy Zell!) The as-yet-unnamed sequel, to be premiered in the autumn, will deal with Seifer's life after rejoining Garden, and the reaction of some other characters to the news. I won't be around this summer as I'm taking nine weeks off to walk from one tip of England to the other (John-O'Groats to Land's End, 1200 miles for the charity Cancer Research), but I've tentatively begun to write bits, and so far it's looking good.  I'll send a blanket email to those of you who have your email addys posted on your profile when the next bit debuts. Have a good summer, and thanks for your input.

See you space cowboys!

Reviews:

Auronzlah: SDTC is much better than GB-mainly because GB was my first finished piece of writing ever, and I hadn't even played the game. I'm actually proud of SDTC, even if it is shudder fanfiction Mnaaa.

Ghandi: I loved this review! Over the last three chapters Seifer has killed many monsters, defeated a Ruby Dragon single-handedly, rescued the girl (kind of) and held two people at gunpoint and he's acting too much like a puppydog? I must be doing something right:D Anyway, hope this fits the bill.

Ghost140: Seifer has many redeeming qualities. He's usually honest, incredibly loyal, and extremely talented at killing things-but he's on his own side, just like everybody else.

Kjata: I'm glad it wasn't mushy. Real romance just isn't, and Seifer and Quistis might be the least romantic people ever.

Nynaeve77: Thanks for your comment on the 'underlying tenderness' between S and Q-that's what I was going for. However, the word 'love' will never pass their lips. Thank fuck.

Mana Angel: Ahh, Seifer and Bahamut-that's a given. That damn GF killed me four times-more than anything else. And he's an arrogant shit too, so I thought it was fitting.  

Quistis88: Thank you, you nice person:D

Sabriel41: Ooh, ta! Thanks for the well-wishes.

Seventhe: Ta! This is the last, for now. I was beginning to lose it a bit towards the end..it's just a good job I had most of this finished all ready.

Sheep the adventurer: Thanks, reviewer with the insanely cool name.

Sickness In Salvation: Good luck with your exams too:D

Sulou: Whew, ta! The Quistis-tends-the-injured-man bit was written to blow off steam after Veterinary Revision Hell. When I gave it to my sister to crit, she emailed me back three words: Lose the intestines.

Ta,

kate

and, because everybody seemed to like my beta's other comments….an early version of ch10.  

("His tongue explored new territories inside her mouth as the darkness pressed close around them both".

_As well as being a cliché, this brings up images of Eddie Izzard's "Flag" sketch "We claim this territory for His Majesty the King!/But we live here."_

_Also from a purely practical point of view, they have been going out for three weeks, there's probably very few places his tongue hasn't been_.)

Heh.


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